


The Way You Look At Them

by suna_scribbles



Series: Deception [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mild Gore, Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Pining, Robot/Human Relationships, Romance, Scheming, Self-Insert, Tags May Change, Unrequited Love, hana continues to pass out a lot, lay off for once, more stars because these two wont shut up about stars ever, seriously you two, why am i so obsessed with people getting kidnapped
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-06-21 10:17:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15555558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suna_scribbles/pseuds/suna_scribbles
Summary: "She had come too far, remained alive too many times, and she was disrupting the balance of power in far too many ways. The scales were not supposed to be tipping in the Autobot’s favor—even less so because of a being so infinitesimal. If the human wanted so badly to be part of this war, she deserved to know exactly what every Cybertronian had suffered through."





	1. Role Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Docbitch takes the place of docbot. Ratchet's like... kind of dead?

“Ratchet?” I whispered, tapping my hand on his face. “Ratchet? _Ratchet?_ ”

Megatron was still howling with gleeful laughter. 

“Ratchet,” I repeated. “Ratchet! Stop! Wake up!” Tears rushed down my face, and I began to cry, smacking him over and over. “No! _Ratchet!_ ”

He didn’t move.

“How ironic, to kill the medic!” Megatron yelled. “What a fool!”

I was suddenly blinded by rage at hearing his voice. I sprang upwards, kicking off from the ground and hurling myself at Megatron, gun pointed at his face. 

I yelled out a broken battle cry and, as fast as I had jumped, was grabbed in midair by Megatron’s huge fist. He threw me down easily, and I hit the ground hard, blood spurting from my mouth.

Fury helped me stand back up, gun ignored, fists raised. I lunged again only to be snatched by Optimus, who pulled me toward his chest with both hands.

“Let me go!” I shrieked, struggling with all my might against his fingers. Still laughing, Megatron folded into a plane and flew back through his GroundBridge, followed by the other Decepticons.

“You’re letting them get away!” I screamed, watching in horror as the GroundBridge sealed itself and vanished. “Get off me!”

“This fight is over, Hana,” Optimus said firmly.

“It’s not!” I pounded my fists against Optimus’s hands. “ _It’s not over!_ ”

“We need a GroundBridge, Bulkhead, now,” Arcee said into her comm-link, and one appeared within seconds. I went limp, crying uncontrollably. 

“It’s not over!” I repeated desperately. “Let me go—let me after Megatron—let me—let me get him!”

“Hana, snap out of it!” Arcee said, looking almost as terrified as I felt. “Ratchet needs medical attention, and as far as I know, you’re most qualified to give it to him.”

I couldn’t respond. Heavy sobs shook my entire body, tears streaking through the blood on my face and falling to the ground below. 

“He needs you, Hana!” Drift said. “Get it together!”

“I can’t!” I howled. “He’s—he’s—!”

“He may not be,” Optimus said. “He needs to come back to base, now. And he needs help. Ratchet is strong, and if he has a reason to fight for his life, he will.”

It took incredible effort to remotely compose myself, but the desperation in the voices of the Autobots somehow brought me back to reality. I had never heard them sound so terrified. I looked down at Ratchet, who was motionless, the tiniest shred of light pulsing feebly inside his chest, sputtering and flickering dimly. Every Autobot was staring at me, looking more fearful than I had ever seen them.

Drift and Bumblebee hauled Ratchet’s body upright, shrapnel and shattered glass raining onto the ground in large chunks. I began to struggle against Optimus frantically, desperate to help. Optimus released me, and I flew toward Ratchet, landing on his shoulder and hauling his head upright, trying to keep him from looking so lifeless.

Optimus and Arcee rushed through the GroundBridge, the rest of us making slower progress. 

“Stay awake,” I whispered uselessly to Ratchet. “You can’t go.” 

A stray sob escaped my lips. “ _You can’t leave me._ ”

We towed Ratchet through the GroundBridge and into the base, Bumblebee immediately directing Drift toward the medical bay. The disturbed, grief-stricken look on Bulkhead’s face sent fresh tears sliding down my cheeks.

“What _happened?_ ” he asked.

“Someone grab me an energon infuser and the defibrillator,” I said, my voice breaking as I lay Ratchet’s head down as gently as I could. “Hook him up for transfusions and make sure his life signal stays online. I need the one-half and six-gauge drills and a blowtorch, some jumper cables, and any scrap metal you can find.”

Everyone listened. I didn’t have time to revel in the strangeness of giving orders, focusing only on the signal reader Bumblebee had just attached to Ratchet’s arm. It was growing weaker by the second, deep in the red zone. I knew only one thing about the color red on that scanner: every wasted moment could be severely damaging Ratchet’s brain module.

“Defibs, now!” I yelled. Bumblebee bleeped in panic and grabbed them, placing them in my arms. I pressed them against Ratchet’s chest, staring at the tiny spark in his chest.

“Clear!” I leaped upwards as I discharged. Electricity shot through Ratchet’s body, sending his entire frame jerking upwards. The exposed spark swelled and then shrank again.

“His spark casing is shattered,” I said, almost to myself. “Energon, Bee—pour it right in there. Someone get me my notes!”

Dizzy with fear, I took scrap metal and a stack of notebooks from Arcee’s hands, flipping wildly through the pages until I found a semi-decent diagram of a spark casing. I clumsily started fixing scrap metal around Ratchet’s spark, using the blowtorch to fuse it into place. It felt incredibly wrong, digging around inside Ratchet’s chest like this, and I knew if he pulled through, he’d ridicule my sloppy handiwork until I died.

I laughed to myself at the thought, tears bursting from my eyes. Drift looked alarmed.

I waited for energon to surround the now-enclosed spark and pressed the defibrillator against Ratchet once again. “Clear!”

Optimus jumped away as I sent another surge of electricity through Ratchet’s body. His life signal spiked and went back down again, my notebooks spraying everywhere. I screamed in frustration.

“Clear!”

It didn’t last.

“Ratchet, if you die, I’m gonna kill you!” I hollered. “ _Clear!_ ”

No reaction.

“Clear!”

“Hana—” Bulkhead looked terrified. “I think—”

“ _Don’t!_ ” I shrieked, whirling to face him. “Don’t interrupt me! He’s going to be fine! _Clear!_ ”

Ratchet’s signal jolted upwards and hung slightly higher than it had before.

“I need more metal and more energon! He’s leaking like crazy! Four-gauge piping, someone! _Now, god dammit!_ ”

Drift passed me a collection of pipes and tubes. My mind was laser focused as I began to fit them into place, staring furiously at my notebook as I did so. Why hadn’t I drawn these diagrams any neater? I could barely read my own handwriting.

“I’m sorry that this looks so shitty,” I whispered to Ratchet’s empty optics. “You can fix it yourself when you wake up.”

“He’s fading again,” Bulkhead said nervously.

“Does anyone know if their spark is compatible with his?” I said hurriedly as I reconnected a piston. “He told me once about jump starting a spark, someone on some ship he was on did it—I wrote it down somewhere—”

“Mine is,” Drift said suddenly; I was surprised by the quickness with which he knew.

“How do you—"

He strode forward, unsheathing his Great Sword. “Hana, get back.”

“ _What are you—_ ”

He pushed me off, lifted the sword, and slammed the hilt against Ratchet’s chest. I cried out as an explosion of white filled the room, blinding me for a moment. I shielded my eyes, glaring at Drift when the light faded, spots dancing in front of my eyes.

“Drift—what the hell?” I snapped.

I looked at Ratchet’s signal, which had surged and was lingering in the yellow zone, feeble at best but far higher than it had been moments ago. I blinked in confusion.

“What did you _do?_ ” Arcee asked incredulously.

“My spark is tied to my sword,” he said, replacing it against his back. “I’ve seen it done before. It’s the quickest way to do a transfer.”

He staggered slightly and sat down, and Arcee began to scan over him as I continued to tend to Ratchet, aghast at the light suddenly shining from Ratchet’s exposed organs. It was weak but steady, though the burst of energy had unfortunately sprung a multitude of new energon leaks.

“Where did you learn _that?_ ” I asked, stuffing my finger into a nearby fissure as I flipped wildly through my notes.

Drift grinned, looking slightly weak. “Cyclonus,” he said proudly. “Only nice thing that bot ever did, if you ask me.”

The name didn’t ring a bell. I didn’t care. I continued fixing Ratchet’s wiring, praying with every fiber of my being that I was doing it correctly.

~

“Well, that’s something I haven’t seen in a while.”

Ratchet’s optics flashed open. His servos, almost automatically, flew toward his chest, fingers scrabbling for the gaping cavity around his spark casing.

It was gone.

He looked down, shocked to see smooth metal and clean glass enclosing his body once again, completely unharmed, no longer searing with pain. His form looked oddly dull, the very opacity of his body pulsing in and out in perfect time with the strange swelling he felt deep in his spark.

His optics shifted toward the voice he had just heard and grew wide when he saw who had spoken.

“S—Skids?” he whispered.

Skids chuckled lightly. “The one and only. How’s it going? Not so good, I assume.”

He was standing amongst a few other figures, each one wearing pleasant expressions that sent millions of emotions soaring through Ratchet: Ambulon, Pipes, Cliffjumper, and Trailcutter. Overcome with fear and guilt, Ratchet fell to his knees, staring wide eyed at his fallen comrades.

“You’re—you’re all here,” he stammered. “But—you’re all—"

“I’ll tell you, we weren’t exactly psyched to see you either,” Ambulon said with a frown. “Of all the bots to kick the bucket, you were the last one we expected to see.”

Ratchet touched his chest, feeling lubricant fill his optics once again. He wiped it away irritably. “Am I… one with the Allspark?”

Cliffjumper shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like it, actually,” he said. “You’re certainly not doing so hot, if you’re here at all. But you’ve been fading in and out pretty badly since you showed up.”

“What?”

“I’ve seen this before,” Ambulon said bitterly. “Your spark is still holding on, but it’s unlikely you’ll ever make a full recovery in life. Your brain module is getting fried every second you spend with us. You’re basically dead. Tough break.”

“I’m so sorry, Ambulon,” Ratchet said, ignoring his comrade as guilt suddenly crashing down on him. He stared deeply into the familiar face. “I did everything I could for you—I wanted to help you so badly—”

“Save it, doc,” Ambulon said dismissively, waving his hand. “I was long gone before you even got to my body. There was nothing you could have done. That Pharma is a real piece of work.”

Ratchet turned to Skids, opening his mouth to say something.

“Don’t even start,” Skids said with a grin. “You saw me off as best you could. None of us have any bitterness toward you. Swear.”

A strange sensation of relief filled Ratchet’s processors. All these companions that he had failed to save—they didn’t hate him. They didn’t blame him for their deaths. He had been carrying the burden of their demises with him for eons, and here they were, smiling at him, waiting for him to fully die so they could be with him once again.

He gasped as his spark swelled magnificently, clutching at his chest in pained surprise. Trailcutter frowned.

“Someone’s trying to resuscitate you,” he said knowingly. “Pretty futile, if you ask me. You’re probably the only doctor that could bring you back.”

Hana’s face exploded in Ratchet’s mind. He stood upright, still holding his chest, faintly expecting his spark to fall out any second despite knowing it was secured in place.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hands beginning to shake. “I can’t be here. Not yet. I need to get back to her.”

“ _Her?_ ” Cliffjumper said with a grin. “Who’s the lucky lady?” He pointed a digit accusingly. “I’ll kill you if it’s Arcee.”

“ _Not_ Arcee. This girl, she’s… someone very special,” Ratchet said through gritted teeth, watching the shape of his hands tighten and reform—he was dying again. “She needs me.”

“Doc, I hate to say this,” Ambulon said with a downcast expression, “but it’s probably best for both of you to just let go. Everyone else I’ve seen in your position has ended up here soon enough. They go back and live their lives as unmoving scrap heaps for a few days, and then they bite the dust all over again.”

Ratchet winced as his spark surged once again—he had never realized how badly defibrillators _hurt._ “I can’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “I need to be with her. With everyone.”

Cliffjumper smiled widely. “Gang’s still together, then?” he said happily. “Has anyone snuffed Starscream yet for kicking my tailpipe?”

“No,” Ratchet said bitterly. “Arcee always goes berserk when she sees him, however. She seemingly won’t rest until she’s avenged you.”

“That’s my girl,” Cliffjumper said, beaming.

“So, who’s the one you’re trying so hard to get back to?” Pipes said, folding his arms amusedly. “I’ll be completely honest, I never expected you to find your conjunx. Unless her alt mode was a scalpel or something.”

“That seems fitting,” Ambulon agreed.

Ratchet chuckled dryly. “She’s a native to the planet Team Prime is currently residing on,” he said. “An organic. A human... A great one.”

“A _human?_ ” Cliffjumper laughed. “You’ve changed quite a bit since I last saw you.”

Ratchet scoffed.

“Maybe not that much,” Trailcutter smirked. “Still as grumpy as ever, I see.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ambulon laughed. “Come on, Ratchet,” he said, holding out a servo invitingly. “It’s your time to be one with the Allspark. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Ratchet hesitated for a long time, staring at the hand of the Autobot he had watched die so many centuries ago. He felt his body solidifying, felt his spark waning from life and attempting to pull him toward his fallen comrades, quietly encouraging him. 

He thought of Hana, the way she had looked as his spark shrunk inside his chest. She had been so terrified, desperately trying to clean his face, eyes wide and full of fear. She’d been begging for him to stay awake, to stay alive, delivering his own lines right back at him—lines he had spoken to many Autobots who died in front of him on the battlefield as he tried to perform vital repairs. 

She was going to be devastated.

“I’m sorry, Hana,” he whispered to her face, smiling brightly in his imagination, stars reflecting in her eyes. A sad smile descended on Trailcutter’s face.

“She’ll remember you as you were,” he said calmly. “Don’t taint her memory. You want her to remember you as an amazing doctor, not a dead brain module inside a useless body.”

A large droplet of something wet dripped from Ratchet’s optic, hanging for a moment on his face plates before descending to the ground. He scowled and wiped his face.

He began to slowly reach for Ambulon’s outstretched hand when his spark seized and surged once again, strong enough to send him flying to the ground, hot nails of agony wrenching through his spark casing. He yelled out in pain and grabbed his chest, which felt as though a million bombs were being detonated inside it all at once. Fire filled his fuel lines, blazing with heat, making him twitch all over. His deceased comrades shielded their eyes as light exploded in front of their faces.

“What the—” Skids peered at Ratchet, who had begun seizing on the ground.

Ambulon laughed. “Oh, now _this_ is interesting,” he said.

“Hey Ratchet,” Cliffjumper called casually toward Ratchet’s writhing body. “Tell Arcee I said hi, would you?”

Their faces vanished as though a warm candle had been snuffed out, and just before Ratchet’s vision went totally dark, he felt a stabbing pain flare violently in his chest. He wanted to open his mouth to scream, but his body had suddenly stopped responding. Colors shifted in front of his optics, tan and white and green and blue and red, spots dancing in front of his vision as flames shattered through every inch of his immovable frame. For a split second, he saw Hana’s tear-streaked face, staring down at him, her mouth forming words he couldn’t hear. She was soaked elbow deep in energon, coating in tear-streaked grime and splattered with her own blood, sporting a fresh, swollen black eye and a badly split lip that dripped thickly onto her chin.

He only had time to for a single thought before the pain rendered him unconscious once again—Primus, she was beautiful.


	2. Conjunx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two are anything but conventional.

It took hours to stabilize Ratchet’s condition, and even then, the work was messy. What had once been a hole in his chest was now a tangle of wires and metal plates, haphazardly welded and soldered into place, leaving a crater-sized scar. He was on life support, his spark pulsing dimly but steadily, and a series of system shutdowns forced him to remain on an artificial fuel pump while his own attempted to heal itself. 

I had taken to tending to his more minor injuries, cleaning his entire body of dried energon and pushing his eyelids down so he would, hopefully, rest more peacefully. His deadened expression had relaxed into something far worse—completely blank, breathing through a mouth which lay slightly open. Occasionally his face twitched, barely perceptible had I not been constantly staring at it.

Exhausted, once his vitals had stopped constantly plummeting, I slid from his chassis and leaned against his side, trying with all my might not to cry. One by one, the other Autobots walked toward Ratchet, whispering things at his motionless body that I refused to listen to. I didn’t want to hear anyone’s possible last words to him. I didn’t want to even consider that some of them may have been saying goodbye. Drift silently sat next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t have the strength to push him off.

After her turn, Arcee looked at me, her expression tight. I placed my head against my knees, trying to avoid her gaze.

“You did amazing, Hana,” she said reassuringly.

I didn’t respond, instead rubbing a tear from my eye.

“You have some of your own injuries to tend to,” she said, crouching at eye level, forcing herself into my line of sight. “Maybe you should go shower, get yourself cleaned up.”

“No.” I shifted my eyes away from hers pointedly.

“Ratchet would want—”

“We don’t know what he would want,” I retorted.

Arcee paused. “You would know,” she said quietly.

“I’m not leaving him.”

“You did the best you could for him, Hana,” she said. “Ignoring your own needs won’t help him. All we can do now is wait and hope.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

To my surprise, Arcee sat down, leaning her back against the table, putting her elbows up next to mine. “Suit yourself.”

I scowled. “You don’t have to—”

“If you’re staying, so am I,” she said firmly. “Do you have an extra shirt anywhere? Some fabric? You’re coated in energon.”

I wordlessly pointed toward my bag a few feet away, which was lying wide open, emptied of every notebook I owned. They were scattered across the room, each one opened to medical techniques I had thankfully written down over so many months. My procedures had been inept at best, but at least I’d had an idea of what to do to help the dying medic.

Drift, who had stayed intentionally silent, stood to get the bag, rifling around inside. He pulled out some pencils, loose pieces of paper, and a small case filled with stolen souvenirs from my GroundBridge travels—pebbles, leaves, the occasional seashell.

“Wrong pocket,” I grumbled. Drift ignored me, his faceplates muddling with confusion as he withdrew a small glass bottle.

“What’s this?” he said. I sat rigidly upright, clenching my jaw.

“Don’t touch that,” I snapped. “Put it back.”

“Did _Ratchet_ give this to you?” Drift said incredulously. His expression was far from hostile despite his demanding tone—he looked downright fascinated.

“Don’t touch it! You’re going to break it! Give it to me!”

Drift wordlessly handed the bottle to me and an old shirt to Arcee. She began wiping dried fluids from my arms as I clutched the bottle of innermost energon, fresh tears beginning to flow. It was as warm as when Ratchet had given it to me. Arcee was looking at it, looking amazed and slightly amused.

“I didn’t know anyone still did that,” she said. I finally looked at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Innermost energon,” she said. “Cybertronians used to give it away all the time, back when we had discernable society and people actually had time to find their conjunxes.”

“Can one of you _please_ explain what exactly a conjunx is?” I said grumpily. “Ratchet wouldn’t tell me.”

Drift laughed, and I turned to look at him, glowering, wondering how he could be laughing at a time like this.

“I’m sorry,” he said, covering his mouth. “It’s just… it’s so typical of him to avoid telling you. A conjunx endura is essentially a Cybertronian’s life partner, the person they care about and trust the most in the universe. You do some rituals and then wham, junxies for life.”

“Rituals?” I asked, placing my head back in my knees, holding the bottle of energon tightly. “Like what?”

“They’re called the conjunx ritus,” Arcee said. “Basically, a bunch of things you do to prove you truly care about the person. That you really… love them.”

“Intimacy, disclosure, profference, and devotion,” Drift continued.

“I don’t know what any of those words mean,” I grumbled.

“Have you done all of those?” 

I frowned. “Didn’t I _just_ say I don’t know what those things are? And isn’t that a bit _personal?_ ”

Drift shrugged. “Junxies are the ones who have complete jurisdiction over each other if one is incapacitated,” he said. “It might be important to know in case… you know… things take a turn for the worse. Either you make the decisions as his conjunx or Optimus does as his superior. Usually there’s a more straightforward ceremony, but if Ratchet gave you this, and especially given the circumstances...”

My heart sank as he spoke, reflected in a sharp scowl that took over my features. “He won’t take a turn—”

“Just in case.” Drift put his hand back on my shoulder.

I turned away. “Well… what do they mean specifically?”

“Intimacy is, I don’t know, holding hands or something like that,” Arcee said. “For a while. On purpose.”

I felt my heart thump in my chest as I thought about our first awkward kiss. “Yeah, got that one.”

“Disclosure is telling each other private things,” Drift said. “Secrets.”

I thought back—Ratchet was incredibly closed off, but he had occasionally shared war stories late at night, reliving the memories painful memories with me. “Yeah.”

“Profference is that right there,” Arcee said, pointing to the bottle in my hands. “A really special gift.”

“And devotion is pretty self-explanatory—showing selflessness,” Drift said quietly. “Proving that you put your conjunx above yourself. Some sort of… self-sacrifice.”

I bit my lip hard. “Guess that’s taken care of, too,” I said bitterly.

“Usually you, uh, open your sparks to each other too,” Arcee said, averting her gaze. I scowled.

“So things are official because of a damn loophole,” I muttered, folding my arms tightly over my chest. “Fantastic.”

“Ratchet would be glad,” Drift said, squeezing my shoulder. “He was such a workaholic back in the day, married to his job. Always made fun of people with junxies, but he told me once that he always wondered what it was like to be close enough with anyone to do all those things with them. For them.”

I knew he was trying to comfort me, but his words only made me feel worse.

“And now _I_ have to make important decisions about whether he lives or dies,” I said, my voice cracking. “Lucky me.”

“It’s not ideal, but it’s still special,” Arcee offered comfortingly. I scoffed.

A long, miserable silence fell over the three of us. I put my head down, trying to hide my free-flowing tears. 

“Hey, Hana,” Drift said, piercing the stiff air almost tentatively. “You’ve been here almost a year, haven’t you? How about you catch me up on some stories about you and Ratchet?”

I lifted my head, wiping the tears away hastily. “Why?”

“He used to be one of my best friends, after the war ended,” Drift said with a breath of pride clinging to his words. “If he somehow landed himself a conjunx, and an _organic_ one at that, I have a right to know how.”

“And none of us really know about what goes on behind closed doors with you two,” Arcee added. “Tell us about when you first met him. How freaked out were you?”

I thought back to our first meeting, a smile trying to force its way onto my despondent face despite my best efforts to remain cranky. “Well, Arcee already knows, but I got here because I found an energon mine and she ran me over and broke half my bones,” I began.

Drift snorted. Arcee glared at him.

“It was an accident!” she said defensively.

“I woke up on that table—” I pointed to my bed— “with practically my whole body in a cast.” I lifted my right hand to look at the beautiful artificial fingers. “He came out and I completely flipped my shit. I was terrified, and he gave me attitude right off the bat for knocking some stuff over.” I chuckled, remembering how irritated he had looked as I screamed at the sight of him. “But in my defense, I thought I was on drugs, and Ratchet has awful bedside manner.”

Reliving the memories felt strange. It had been so long since I first met Ratchet that I barely remembered life without him. He had become such a constant in my world, the one thing I relied on more than anything. My existence didn’t seem to make sense without him in it. The life I’d had before meeting him felt like a dream, a hazy mist of memories that I didn’t care to recall.

“Where’d your other arm come from, then?” Drift asked. Arcee grimaced.

“I got captured by Decepticons when I found the coordinates to your sword,” I said. Drift’s eyes went wide.

“And you’re still _alive?_ ”

“A little worse for wear, considering Megatron smashed this arm into pulp and Ratchet had to replace the whole thing,” I said, wiggling the fingers. “That’s when I started doing training. Megatron makes it easy to hold a grudge. I plan to punch him in the face someday.”

“Ratchet went berserk when you got caught,” Arcee said, joining in on the storytelling. I found myself smiling at her. “He was shaking Optimus around and everything. Completely freaking out.”

“Really?” I turned to look at Ratchet, fascinated by the idea of him losing his cool at _Optimus_ of all people.

“What was the Decepticon ship like?” Drift asked, almost excitedly. “How did you avoid getting caught?”

I settled into a crook on Ratchet’s side, placing a hand against him, feeling for the reassuring thump of his spark. I hoped he would be happy that I was bonding with Drift and Arcee a little more. He always gave me crap for only hanging out with him one-on-one.

_Ratchet_ , I thought. _There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to have you awake to see this._

Keeping a hand on the silent medic, I turned to Drift. “Well, first of all, it’s _huge_ , and the amount of color coordination is borderline disturbing,” I began.

~

Ratchet wasn’t sure where he was. He was certainly not with the Allspark anymore, but somehow, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was alive either. All his sensors were churning on overdrive, trying to feel something, see something, seeking anything that would give him a sense of what was happening.

Everything was dark, and the silence was so loud that he could feel it pressing against his audial receptors. He could move his servos in front of his body, but he wasn’t sure if he could see them or not. They appeared when he looked at them, but every time his gaze shifted away, he was no longer certain if they existed or not.

He didn’t know if _he_ even existed or not.

He _knew_ he was walking, but he couldn’t feel his hydraulics shifting or sense any indication that he had any direction at all.

Where was he? He thought of Ambulon, and suddenly Ambulon’s form appeared in front of him, waving cheerfully, a large scar splitting him in half lengthwise. 

As Ratchet recoiled in shock, perhaps falling over in the process, the figure shimmered and faded.

He thought of Optimus, who also materialized. Ratchet reached out to touch him, as curious as he was tentative. The instant his digits made contact, Optimus dissolved into nothingness with a small, reserved smile.

Ratchet wanted to speak, but he was afraid of what sound might feel like in his audial receptors. It felt as though he hadn’t heard anything in thousands of years. 

His mind drifted to Hana, and within moments, she was floating before him, arms crossed over her chest, her sleeping face troubled. Her hair swirled about her head as though she were underwater, a tear dripping down her face and floating into the empty space surrounding her.

Unable to resist, Ratchet reached out, clasping his hands around her, careful to avoid touching her. She floated amongst his digits, unmoving, hair whirling around like a halo, unbelievably soft-looking. Her robotic hands grasped her shoulders, and her face pinched into a frown—she had no idea he was here.

“Hana,” Ratchet whispered. The sound rattled around his head, perhaps spoken aloud, perhaps only thought. He had no way of knowing. He wanted so badly to touch her, to feel her weight against his fingers. But he was terrified of what would happen if he did.

He sat for a long time, watching her breathe in an unaware slumber. Tears flowed steadily from her eyes, sliding onto Ratchet’s hands and disappearing into puffs of dust.

Her eyes opened after some time. She wasn’t looking at him, instead staring straight through his body, looking skyward. He could see every tear on her eyelashes, clinging to them and shimmering like constellations. Her pupils were filled with stars.

Ratchet turned his head to follow her gaze and was amazed to see the night sky behind him, the thick stripe of stars from the Milky Way stretching endlessly above him. They were shining so clearly that Ratchet was sure he could have counted them if he cared to.

He looked back at Hana, whose mouth had started forming words he knew he could hear, but they weren’t coming from her lips. He heard her voice somewhere deep in his brain module, in his spark, her inflections painfully familiar and oddly mingled amongst his own.

_Stargazing, Hana?_ she mouthed. _They’re gorgeous. Earth is a beautiful planet. Shame that planets such as these get destroyed by the very ones who call it home._

Ratchet remembered this conversation. He frowned.

_Stargazing was always hard here. Come again? Too many cities. You can’t see the stars. Someday I’ll take you to Cybertron and you can do some real stargazing._

Hana’s gaze suddenly refocused, and instead of stars, Ratchet saw his own face reflected in her eyes. She reached her hands toward him.

_I swore that you’d never get hurt again_ , she said with a broken smile. _I was going to protect the stars for you. I wanted to see them shining in your eyes. Just one more time. I'm sorry that I'll never get that chance._

Instants later, she vanished.

Ratchet clenched his servos, trying to catch her before she faded. Dust melted through his fingers, every tiny particle the exact shade of her glistening eyes.

He couldn’t feel it, but he knew his body was collapsing onto the nonexistent ground. The light from the stars above vanished, and he was left alone with nothing but the empty misery of crying without senses to detect it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm going with the four acts that Getaway listed to Tailgate because the conjunx ritus are confusing and were never explicitly shown or listed (as far as I know) and Ratchet is an too much of an idiot to ask outright to do them anyway even if there is an official process. Loopholes ftw.


	3. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *pounding fists on the table* ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST

“Wait,” Drift said, holding up his hand to pause my story. “His head is the size of your entire _body_. He could probably _swallow_ you if he tried. How the _hell_ did kissing work?”

I shrugged, smiling as Arcee collapsed into heaps of laughter.

“Just sort of… did it,” I said lamely. “It’s happened plenty of times, but I’m not gonna lie, it’s still pretty weird.”

Arcee laughed harder, grabbing her stomach.

“You good, Arcee?” I asked, tapping her on the back.

“I’m—I’m fine,” she wheezed, biting her lip hard. “The thought of that—that’s just—that’s the strangest thing I can possibly think of.” She bent over again in a fresh fit of giggles.

Drift’s mouth was wobbling slightly as well. I scowled at him and pointed a finger accusingly.

“Don’t even start,” I warned. He feigned zipping his lips shut.

“Keep going,” he urged. “What happened next?”

~

It felt like years had gone by. Ratchet felt empty, drained, hollow, exhausted but with no desire to put himself in sleep mode. The feeling of pain in his tanks was welcome, a reminder that somewhere, he might still be alive. He still had senses, even if only internal.

He heard laughing. The tears stopped flowing, and he looked upward, desperate to find the source, aching for a shred of light, of color, of anything.

For the briefest of seconds, he _felt_ something. It was pressing against his side, incredibly small, _incredibly_ familiar. He put his own servo over it, the sensation of touch seeming entirely new in this empty prison he inhabited. 

The pressure subsided, and he kept his servo in place, optics cycling wide with panic.

“Wait,” he whispered. “Come back!”

His eyes closed, breathing hard, desperate to retain the memory of what it had felt like. Jumbled words and laughter faded in and out around him, indistinguishable and muddled as though echoing from hundreds of miles away.

It felt like years before the touch returned. He stayed perfectly still, relishing the sensation, placing his hand over the fragment of pressure on his side, hoping it would never leave.

~

Long hours went by with the three of us sharing stories of Ratchet and ourselves, each recollection generating a strangely warm feeling deep inside my stomach. My hand moved away from Ratchet only once, instead covering my mouth as Drift told the hollow tale about how he had first met Ratchet. I learned very quickly that Drift had lived a painful life, born as a homeless thief, becoming a Decepticon, then a drug addict, then an Autobot, and becoming homeless once again as his ship was bombarded by spiteful Decepticons. They had destroyed his sword and left him for dead in the middle of a freezing ocean on Earth, which he managed to escape, hiding the hilt of the broken weapon and taking refuge across the world for over twenty years.

“I owe everything I am to Ratchet,” Drift said fondly, looking toward his comrade. “He believed in me when no one else did. I would have died millions of years ago, brain fried by circuit boosters on the side of a road. And now, here I am, stronger than I ever imagined I could be.”

Drift smiled. I put my hand back on Ratchet, lowering my eyes. 

“You know, it’s… it’s amazing that he’s not dead yet,” Arcee said, vocalizing what we were all thinking. “Not to be blunt or anything.”

I exhaled slowly. “Yeah, it really is,” I murmured. “Getting shot in the spark like that should have killed him.”

“He’s been alive since the war began,” Drift said. “Watched it end the first time, and watched it come back. He’s as tough as they come, surviving all that.”

I nodded, ignoring the now-familiar sinking feeling deep in my stomach. 

“He’s gonna be okay,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else.

Arcee placed her sevo on my back. “I hate to call it quits,” she said, “but I really need to power down. It’s late and we need to gather a ton of energon tomorrow to keep Ratchet running.”

She squeezed my shoulder a little bit. “This was fun,” she said, her genuine smile catching me off guard. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

She stood and walked toward the recharging stations, vanishing into the darkness, leaving Drift and I alone.

We sat in silence for a long time. Drift stared into the distance, looking lost in his own thoughts, and I took the opportunity to focus my eyes on Ratchet’s blank expression. 

Arcee was right—it had been nice to reminisce. Being with the Autobots for so long and forming so many memories every single day left little room to think back at the past. I had driven the conversation for at least an hour, telling every tale I had of Ratchet, all the crazy mishaps we had shared and idiotic arguments we had gotten into. 

I only omitted one story: the first time we went on a drive, and the first time I had seen the Nevada stars.

His last sentiment was clear in my mind: “I was going to protect the stars for you.”

He had never mentioned _anything_ about stars before, and I was suddenly struck with curiosity as to what significance they held to him. What hadn’t he told me? I knew Ratchet was private, closed off in many ways, but he was always open with me when I _asked._

_What hadn’t I asked him?_

I felt a lump rise in my throat as my mind began to nag me with questions. What had he been hiding? Would I ever get a chance to beg for clarification? I pictured the confused devastation in his face as the last shreds of consciousness left his optics. Could he even recover from such significant damage without a real medic to repair him? Had I done a good enough job? Was I even capable of doing a good job?

Had I somehow broken something and destroyed his last chance of survival?

I suddenly felt incredibly dizzy as thoughts rammed into my skull. I clenched my jaw hard. Tears sprang into my eyes as pain, emotional and physical, spread through my body. But frustration trumped every thought as the tears began to cascade downwards.

I was so, so tired of crying in front of everyone. I was tired of feeling so helpless.

Wordlessly, I jumped to my feet and bolted for the elevator, ignoring Drift’s concerned voice as he called after me.

I leapt inside and waited impatiently as the elevator ascended, slowly and steadily. My brain felt like it might implode, and I clutched at it desperately, part of me expecting large chunks to fall away any moment. After a few silent seconds, the doors opened once again, and my vision was filled with light—it was a beautiful, clear night, the stars shining as bright as ever in the Nevada sky.

I walked to the edge of the cliff, making myself comfortable on the sandy ground, clutching my knees to my chest, attempting and failing miserably to clear my mind. The stars shimmered like diamonds in the sky, all different sizes, smears of color from across the galaxy miraculously glowing in the stratosphere. 

What did his last words mean? What did the stars mean to him? What did the stars mean to me? What if he never woke to tell me? What if I had inadvertently killed him? What if he was locked in stasis forever, and it was all my fault?

The thoughts pounded against my brain heavy and fast, threatening to smash my skull to bits. I couldn’t handle this much thought—it was too much. All of it was too much.

Tears of anger and grief and fear and guilt began to flow seconds before I heard heavy footsteps behind me. I sniffled and hastily wiped my face, forcing myself to sit still as Drift sat next to me, crouched down with one arm draped over his knee.

“What are you doing?” Drift asked. I shrugged noncommittally. 

“Just wanted to stargaze a bit,” I said. My voice cracked quite brutally. I grimaced.

“Hana—"

I turned to him with a fake smile plastered on my face, wishing with all my might that he would go away. I didn’t want to cry in front of anyone anymore. It was getting tiresome.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just needed some air. H-he’s going to be fine, I’m sure of it.”

Drift examined me for a moment before sitting down, leaning back on the palms of his hands. I shifted away, gritting my teeth.

“It’s okay to be sad, you know,” he said plainly, shifting his gaze to the stars above.

Surprised, I turned my head to look at him. He continued looking skyward.

“You might feel obligated to be a badass around the others, but you don’t have to be strong for me,” he continued. “I understand. If you need to cry, go for it. I promise I won’t look.”

I stared at him blankly. Drift absorbed the dark silence, giving me a chance to speak before pressing further.

“You’ve never said it outright, have you?” he asked.

“Said what?”

“That you love him.”

I opened my mouth for a moment, then closed it. My eyes began to feel damp again.

“Didn’t think so,” he said with a smirk. “Say it on your own time, by all means. But you don’t have to be afraid. He feels the same. I knew it the second I saw him look at you.”

The worst part was that I knew exactly what he was doing. I knew he was provoking me, trying to surface my emotions, but all of the spite in my body couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. I tried to say something, but the only sound I managed was a quiet sob. Clever bastard.

“There you go.” Drift kept his gaze cast upward, and without the presence of pitying optics on me, I found it incredibly easy to burst into uncontrollable weeping.

For the first time, I let the weight of everything crush me. All of my fears and sorrow were pushed from the knot in my chest, exhumed in waves of tears and accompanying wails. I let myself be completely consumed, allowing the misery of the situation to overcome me until I was nothing short of a shaking, sniveling mess. Ratchet’s body collapsing in front of me crossed my mind over and over, the flash of purple light and the river of energon drenching me to my elbows. I thought of his gruff frowns, his smiles, the deathly greyness that settled on his stunning blue optics as his spark shrank to practically nothing. He had looked so shocked as he faced death—the thought made me cry even harder.

Drift didn’t look at me once.

It was a long time before the tears stopped, and once they had, I turned to Drift, sniffling quietly. He was patiently looking at the stars, his expression thoughtful.

I hesitated, gathering my courage before speaking in a shockingly rusty voice. “Drift?”

He met my gaze. 

I felt my chin wobble. “Is he… is he going to be okay?”

Drift pondered for a while. “What do you want me to say?” he asked.

I stayed silent, picking at my fingernails.

“In that case, I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t. A shot to the spark is quite a hit to bounce back from. It’s possible, but not likely.”

I bit my lip. 

“Sorry if that’s not the answer you wanted.”

“No, it’s just… I know you’re right,” I whispered.

“I know you do.”

Drift leaned toward me, resting one elbow on the ground and placing an arm around me. I paused before settling against him, somehow grateful for his honesty while hating him for it at the same time.

“Is there anything you can think of that might help him?”

Drift sighed. “We can only hope,” he said quietly.

I sniffled. “That’s exactly what Ratchet would say.”

“Would he? That bastard stole my line.”

I chuckled dryly. “Give him hell for that… when he wakes up.”

Drift smiled sadly and gently patted my head. “I will.”

~

Silence descended over his empty world once again. Ratchet began to dissociate, images of Hana flashing through his mind. She materialized every so often only to fade away as he reached to touch her, wishing with everything that he was that, just once, he would feel her against his fingertips.

He could feel the Well of Allsparks crooning at him once again, beckoning for him to return. It spoke words he couldn’t comprehend, crafting silent sounds that made no sense while also being perfectly coherent. It was terribly reassuring, making promises of warmth and color and sensation. And the temptation was becoming overwhelming—he yearned to _feel_ once again, to be away from this horrible emptiness, to feel _something_ even if it was only agony.

But he refused the summon.

He had too much to live for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo. [This](https://youtu.be/EL45PA4mN10) song. This is all I listened to while writing this. It's ridiculously moody and it makes me feel weird. I love it.


	4. Consolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana is confused and Drift is a good boy. Ratchet is screaming into the void like a totally sane person. The Well of Allsparks is probably getting really tired of Ratchet's shit.

I awoke with a ceiling above me and arms cradling my body carefully. The darkness indicated it was still nighttime, and my height from the ground immediately told me I was being carried.

Drift looked down at me as I stirred. 

“Oh, good,” he said, looking relieved. “You’re awake. I thought I was going to have to tidy you up myself. You’re a really heavy sleeper, you know that? Like, a _disturbingly_ heavy sleeper.”

“What?”

“You fell asleep. I poked you a few times and you barely reacted.”

“Okay, I get _that_ , but why are you carrying me?”

“You’re a mess and you need to be properly cleaned,” he said, looking firm. “I’m taking you to the showers. Figured if I did it while you were asleep and locked you in, maybe you’d listen.”

“I—”

“Don’t even try to refuse. I’ll keep watch over Ratchet. Don’t worry.”

He placed me on the floor of the decontamination chamber as we arrived, looking at me expectantly. I sighed. He had me trapped.

“You can leave now,” I grumbled in defeat. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Good,” he said with a grin. “I’ll be in the medbay.”

“You better be or I’ll kick that curvy white ass from here to next Tuesday.”

Drift flashed a grin and swung his hips dramatically as he exited.

Once he had vanished, I stripped and turned the massive handle on the shower, closing my eyes as water rushed over my body. It ran over my aching muscles, drenching my hair in seconds, steam wafting from my skin. Blood and energon dribbled to the floor, disappearing in a whirl of blue and red. I idly watched it, picking at my scabs and letting the blood flow freely with the water. 

I felt hollow, but oddly better now that I had wailed to my heart’s content. I felt as though I _should_ cry more, let out more of the anguish currently gripping my stomach like a vice, but tears didn’t come.

Drift had said himself that Ratchet was likely to die. I knew it, deep down, but hearing it aloud had simultaneously been the most painful and relieving thing in the world. I had accepted everyone’s comfort with a grain of salt, knowing they were just trying to make me feel better, but Drift’s realistic outlook had gifted me with a refreshed sense of perspective. I wasn’t the only one who was afraid, and I wasn’t the only one who was willing to admit Ratchet might not pull through.

Until now, all of the consolation had felt strangely distorted, fully untrue, spoken as comfort rather than promises. I didn’t listen when Arcee said he would be okay—I didn’t even listen to myself when I said the same thing. Ratchet would never accept false statements, no matter how painful. He’d be ashamed if I’d deluded myself into thinking he was going to be just fine. He would be proud of me for accepting his imminent death.

I felt like I should cry at the thought, but nothing within me was capable of stirring tears anymore. Instead, I stared at the ground, watching Ratchet’s energon circle the drain. My heart throbbed, caught between confusion and grief and hope.

Despite every possible odd being stacked against him, he hadn’t given up on me when my body was seemingly beyond repair. He’d be furious if I gave up on him. I balled my hands into fists, the clink of metal on metal strangely reassuring, loud enough to fight away any more thoughts.

Once I had sufficiently cleansed myself of the filth caking my skin, I turned the shower off and dried my body, tugging a tee shirt over my head as I returned to the medical bay. Drift was dozing next to Ratchet, whose condition hadn’t changed based on my quick examination of his vitals.

I waited for Drift to nod off before putting the scanners away and climbing onto Ratchet’s chest. It was far less comfortable than normal, coated in sheet metal and tubes and badly soldered wires that poked at my face as I lay down. I pressed my ear against his chest, listening carefully for the beating of his spark, relieved when I heard it despite its weakness. 

“Do you two usually sleep together?”

I jumped in surprise and whirled my head around. Drift was tiredly looking at me, his sharp features blurred with sleepiness. 

“Oh. Uh… yeah.”

“With his arms to the side like that?”

I frowned. 

“Tell me,” he insisted.

I shrugged. “He always puts one hand over me,” I said. “Like a blanket.”

“Like a what?”

“A _blanket_. A covering, I guess.”

“That’s cute.”

“I like to think so.”

I closed my eyes, focusing my attention on Ratchet’s dimly thumping spark. Drift’s footsteps preceded the sensation of a hand draping over me, and I sighed in frustration.

“I’m fine, Drift,” I said irritably. “You don’t have to comfort me.”

“I’m not.”

My eyes fluttered open, and I realized the servo was not black like Drift’s, but instead a soft orange. It was heavy, the digits unmoving, the shape overwhelmingly familiar.

Drift was settling down on my bed a few yards away, looking pleased with himself. I clutched one of Ratchet’s fingers, pulling it close—it was colder than usual, but even when dim, the warmth of energon was unmistakable.

“Thank you,” I whispered. Drift nodded and put his arms behind his head, shuttering his optics.

“Don’t mention it.”

Ratchet’s servo was lifeless, absent of the gentle stroking I was so used to feeling against my back. But it was still here. I rearranged his fingers into a position that was hopefully more comfortable for him and held tightly, pressing my lips against the fingertips.

I wanted to talk to him, but it felt too final. I didn’t want to say anything for fear that the words would be my last to him. 

And even if he could hear me, I didn’t know what I could say that would sufficiently vocalize the feelings I had for him. 

He wouldn’t die if he didn’t have closure, I told myself. He wouldn’t get any last words out of me. 

Not yet.

~

It took a long time for feeling to return, and what he felt made his spark pulse harder than it ever had before.

Something was on resting on him.

He grasped his chassis, scrabbling for whatever was touching him. His hands were trembling wildly as the faint pressure adjusted, curling up in a wonderfully familiar way.

His breath came in short gasps. She was here.

He was suddenly overcome with the most peculiar feeling he had ever encountered: he _felt_ his arm moving, but the servos before him didn’t budge. His arm arched upward and was placed on his chest, and he inhaled sharply.

He felt her.

She was underneath his hand, speaking words he couldn’t make out, adjusting his digits so they curled tightly around her small frame. He could feel her head atop of his index finger, using it as a pillow, assuming the exact same position he had become accustomed to after so many months. 

Her heartbeat. Her little human spark was beating inside her chest.

He could feel it.

He could feel her every movement, her hair draping over his chassis. It was cool, wet. She must have taken a shower. Drift had probably bullied her into it, knowing how stubborn she was. Ratchet felt his lips twitch upwards, his hand squeezing almost involuntarily.

Oh, Primus, he could _feel_ her. He stared at his chest, wishing she would appear, snoozing heavily, impossible to awaken. It was so damned annoying, trying to wake her up in the mornings. She would whine, complain, grab his digits, refusing to let go or move. Sometimes she would giggle and staunchly clench to him, clearly wide awake after fighting his efforts for so long, but obviously enjoying the attention.

He would do anything to be with that obnoxious girl again.

The Well of Allsparks was still whispering at him, but his rushing will to see her was so strong that the call ebbed for a moment, shrinking back almost submissively. He blinked, still staring at his empty chassis, feeling Hana shift, wrapping herself into a little cocoon comprised of his fingers.

The ever-increasing draw of the Allspark had returned, but he was filled with fresh hope at its momentary absence. He could still fight his fate. He summoned all of his strength, squeezing his eyes shut, silently screaming for death to leave him alone.

“Leave me alone,” he snapped, his soundless voice dropping into nothingness, emboldened by the feeling of Hana against his fingers. “Leave me _alone!_ ”

The summon faded for a few moments before returning, but his own spark had begun throbbing with excitement. He was still alive somewhere—he was sure of it. His spark was pulsing. Hana was asleep on his chest. She had, against all odds, saved his life. He may not be in his body—in fact, he still had no idea where he was at all—but he was at least _somewhere_.

If he kept fighting, if he kept shouting loud enough, maybe his draw to the Allspark would be diminished. 

Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to return to her.


	5. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UH OH SPAGHETTI-O!  
> Hana is an idiot. Honestly, a massive, giant idiot.

The days passed slowly and miserably, and after three weeks had gone by with no significant changes in Ratchet’s condition, I found myself growing desperate. I searched through Ratchet’s medical notes daily, Drift translating for me as I tried to find something, anything that could help him. The notes were tidy and exhaustive, but somehow useless at the same time.

“There has to be something here,” I muttered, bouncing across the keyboard, Drift watching me with dismay.

“He hasn’t showed any sign of improvement,” Drift reminded me for the millionth time.

“His brain module is active!” I argued, rolling my eyes. 

“He’s completely unresponsive.”

“That’s just because his nervous system isn’t online yet.”

“Hana—”

“Please, Drift,” I said, spinning around. “ _Please_ don’t start with this again. There has to be _something_ we can do.”

Drift sighed. “Listen,” he said. “I’m really glad you’re trying so hard for him, I am. He’d be glad too, I’m sure. You’ve been tireless for weeks, and that’s great. But… maybe it’s time to let him go.”

“Didn’t I _just say_ not to start with this?”

“I’m—”

“No!” I snapped. “I’m not giving up!”

“Is it giving up if you’re letting him be where he’s supposed to be?”

I chewed on my lip, crossing my arms. “It—I mean—he’s not _supposed_ to be anything.”

“Think about _him_ , Hana,” Drift insisted. “Think about what he would do, and what he would want. Do you really think he’d want to spend his life like this?”

I forced myself not to look at Ratchet’s motionless body. 

“He’s still alive,” I insisted. “He’s—”

“He’s alive, yes, but is he _living?_ ”

“Don’t give me that spiritual shit. You gonna start singing Kumbaya now?”

“...What?” 

“Why do you want him gone so badly?” I snarled, ignoring him entirely, lost in my own frustrations. “I thought he was your best friend!”

Drift looked incredibly strained. “He is,” he said in a painfully cool tone. “And I want what’s best for him. No matter what it is. Don’t you?”

My mouth opened and shut a few times before I turned away in a huff. “There has to be something,” I repeated.

Drift sat back down, folding his arms over his chest. “Just think about it,” he said quietly.

I narrowed my eyes but managed to refrain from saying anything.

“Maybe he’s in a form of self-induced stasis lock,” I mumbled to myself. “I could try looking for his locking chip and see if it’s damaged.”

“Didn’t you already try that?”

“Hush, you.”

“You sound just like him.”

“Flattery won’t get me to listen to you.”

“Worth a shot.”

I smiled in spite of myself. Drift and I had grown close over the past few weeks, sharing stories late into the night and dedicating ourselves to watching over Ratchet as the others gathered energon to keep his systems active. We had trained together a few times, giving me much-needed exposure to sword fighting as well as allowing both of us to practice some team fighting. We worked surprisingly well together, Drift being incredibly quick and adept at close combat, whereas I was a good distraction and had the ability to easily open enemies to Drift’s attacks. Bumblebee and Arcee had joined us occasionally, and Drift and I were able to get the upper hand on them multiple times despite being out of shape.

However, Drift’s realistic attitude regarding Ratchet was starting to grate on my nerves as the days stretched on. He was straightforward in his own weird spiritual way, which was appreciated for the most part, but he was reaching a point where seeing Ratchet at all was more painful for him than anything. I couldn’t fault him too much—Ratchet’s state made me more and more miserable as the days crawled by, his vitals low enough to force him to stay on life support, but not so low that I could make a definitive call on whether to pull the plug or not.

It was unbearable. 

“Hana, can we get a bridge?” Arcee’s voice called suddenly over the comm-link. “It’s getting pretty dark; we need to head back.”

I sighed—Drift snickered. 

“Sure thing,” I said, jumping from the computer and opening a GroundBridge. As soon as Optimus and Arcee entered the base, I returned to my work, scanning through documents I’d seen dozens of times, praying something new would magically appear.

“Has there been any change in his condition?” Optimus asked, setting down a few large blocks of energon. I shrugged.

“I’m still doing research,” I said dismissively as Optimus walked up behind me.

“Do you have any definitive idea as to why he remains unconscious?”

I cracked my knuckles. “No,” I muttered. “But I have a feeling I might be onto something.”

“Hana,” Optimus said slowly. “It has been some time since Ratchet was injured.”

“Yeah? And?”

“Do not doubt that I care deeply for Ratchet,” Optimus said. “But—”

I closed my eyes. “Optimus, with all due respect, if you’re going to tell me to consider letting him go, Drift already gave me that speech today.”

“Hana—”

“Please,” I said, swallowing my tears. “Don’t make me think about it.”

“I know that you are technically his conjunx, so the decision is yours to make,” Optimus said carefully. “But I strongly advise that you think about Ratchet’s needs over your own, and the needs of the team. I will not deny that seeing him in this state… causes me distress.”

“And it doesn’t for me?” I cried, whirling to face him. “You think I like falling asleep on top of an empty husk every single night? I don’t! But I just don’t want to give up on him! I—” My words faltered. “I _do_ want what’s best for him. I just don’t know what that is yet.”

Optimus nodded calmly, and I immediately regretted lashing out, clamping my jaw shut. 

“I understand this is hard for you,” he said, a servo twitching as though to comfort me and deciding better of it. “I just want to be sure that you are indeed open to all possibilities regarding his situation.”

“I—I am,” I stammered, my heart sinking. “I’m just… I’m not ready to make the call.”

“That is understandable,” Optimus said. He looked oddly distraught, which was strange to witness—Optimus was never one to show a significant amount of emotion. “Just, please, do not abuse the trust of a dear friend of mine.”

He turned and began carrying energon to the refinery, leaving me speechless, tears flowing down my face. Drift immediately stood and began to type nonsense on the computer, blocking me from Arcee’s lingering, curious view.

“It’s alright,” Drift said reassuringly as I sat down, wiping my face irritably. “Optimus is just scared.”

“Is that what everyone thinks?” I whispered. “That I’m abusing my power as his conjunx?”

“Not necessarily,” Drift said quickly. “They’re just more accustomed to making tough calls than you are. Don’t overthink it.”

“ _You_ don’t think that, do you?”

“No,” Drift said firmly. “ _I’m_ just trying to be realistic. That’s all.”

I put my head in my hands, forfeiting the fight against my tears. “What do I do?” I asked. “I can’t keep him like this. But it’s too early to take him off life support… isn’t it?”

“That’s not my decision to make,” Drift said with a shrug. “I will tell you this—the best thing you can do is listen to your gut. It’s smarter than you think. If you listen to it, I’m sure it’ll lead you to the right decision.”

“My gut says to sit here and mope for a while.”

Drift smiled sadly. “Then I’ll stay right here,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

I paused for a moment. “Sorry for yelling at you,” I said sheepishly.

“We all have heavy frustrations right now. I don’t mind helping you bear the weight.”

“You’re such a hippie.”

I lowered my head, trying to calm my spinning thoughts and figure out what my instincts were saying. Drift was better at this stuff than I was, so I wanted to trust him, but it was impossible to think rationally—my judgement was far too clouded by the hope that Ratchet would miraculously sit upright. I knew that for a fact.

But with _Optimus_ also subtly encouraging me to pull the plug, I was more lost than ever.

Once Arcee had made her final trip to the refinery, I jumped down from the computer and began to walk toward Ratchet, looking over his vitals once again. No change. His fuel pump was still failing, fuel lines showing signs of rusting, spark pulsing weakly but steadily, coolant levels normal, nervous system offline, optical system offline, processors still running but with no discernable patterns. I stared at his faceplates, which hadn’t moved in days. Not even a twitch.

“Tell me what to do,” I whispered uselessly to him. 

Nothing.

I sat next to him, dropping my elbows to my knees, rubbing my temples hard to try and clear my mind. _Come on, gut,_ I told myself. _You know what’s up. I know you do._

My thoughts were clouded, my entire brain filled to the brim, unable to access any sort of train of thought, let alone listen to what my gut was saying. I sighed and leaned against Ratchet, feeling for his spark and praying for a miracle.

Drift joined me a few minutes later, rubbing my shoulder gently as I agonized. 

Nighttime soon fell, but I was too stressed to feel even slightly tired. Drift flushed Ratchet’s energon as I sat, one ear against Ratchet’s chassis, letting the rhythmic sound of his beating spark clear my muddy thoughts.

Hours went by. Drift watched me for a long time before eventually powering down, his optics fluttering shut. I was restless, confusing thoughts stabbing my skull.

_Your gut_ , I told myself again and again. _Listen to your gut._

I focused all of my energy on draining my head, trying to figure out some sort of approach, any approach. There _had_ to be something. I _knew_ there was something.

I just didn’t know what.

As the night grew darker and my breathing grew slower, I felt something—a strange tug deep in my stomach. I sat straighter, urging my brain to stay empty.

_Talk to him_ , I found myself thinking.

I blinked in surprise at my own instincts. “No,” I muttered. “I’m not doing that.”

_Talk to him._

“But—” I was arguing with myself aloud, the way Ratchet always despised. My stomach dropped to my feet. “But then—what if he hears—what if the only reason he’s around is… because I haven’t said goodbye?”

_Talk to him._

Every part of my body wanted to run away screaming, but I knew I had to listen. I had to trust Drift. 

I had to trust myself.

I crept toward Ratchet’s head, settling next to his audio receptors. I took a deep breath.

“I don’t want to do this,” I whispered aloud.

_Talk to him._

I began fiddling with my fingers, gathering my courage. What was I going to say?

“So… it’s been a while since I’ve talked to you, hasn’t it?” I began croakily.

My voice caught in my throat.

_Talk to him._

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing here,” I continued quietly. “Drift told me to listen to my gut, and it’s saying I should talk to you. But I don’t know what to say. What < _can_ I say? That I miss you, and I want you to wake up even though your systems are fried? Am I supposed to ask you to magically sit up and have everything go back to normal?”

A small sob lifted into my throat. “I—I _feel_ like I should be saying goodbye,” I said, allowing tears to start streaming down my cheeks. “But I’m not ready to do that. I still can’t shake the feeling that I shouldn’t give up on you. But what can I do? I’m not you. I’m not a miracle doctor. I—I tried to f-fix you, and I didn’t do a v-very good job.”

I wiped my face. “I’m really sorry,” I breathed. “I did the best I could, I swear. I never stopped trying. I never want to stop trying. But… this isn’t fair to you. Is it?”

I found myself placing my hands on his face, staring at his closed optics. 

“Your eyes,” I whispered. “They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I-if you could just open them for me—one more time—I think that would b-be okay.”

He didn’t move.

“I have so many questions,” I said, beginning to sob more heavily. “Like the s-stars? You said you wanted to protect them. What does that mean? Why did you say that?

“I—” I pressed my face against him, beginning to shake. “I never even g-got to say t-that—I—that I—I—”

I felt my face crumple. “I don’t want to say it if you’re not going t-to say it back,” I muttered.

I held his head for a while, trying to calm myself down. My hands moved across his blank face, feeling for any glimmer of expression, any hope that he could hear me and was capable of responding.

He still didn’t move.

“I’m s-sorry,” I whispered. “I did everything I could. I promise. Optimus and Drift are saying I-I should make the right decision, and—and—”

It struck me like a brick. Hot, fresh tears flooded my cheeks.

“I think I have to l-let you go. This isn’t fair. To anyone. Especially—especially not to you. T-this isn’t what you would have wanted.”

I held his face tightly. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry you had to do this to p-protect me. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough, or smart enough. I’m sorry I c-couldn’t save you.

“I’m so sorry.”

I broke down fully for the first time in weeks, clutching Ratchet’s head as tight as I could as sobs shook my entire body. I felt a gentle servo on my back and didn’t have to look up to know it was Drift.

“It’s okay, Hana,” he said quietly. “It’s going to be okay.”

I shook my head wildly.

“He would’ve been proud of you for making the call.”

I held Ratchet as close as I could, trembling all over, unwilling to accept the decision I had just made.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It _is_ my fault. I’m so sorry, Ratchet. I’m so sorry.”

Drift fell silent as I clung to Ratchet, crying and immediately regretting my words.

“There has to be something I can do,” I whispered, backtracking. “There’s—”

“Hana,” Drift said. “It’s okay.”

I doubted anything would ever be okay. Drift was lying through his teeth—I knew he was. I could feel the very slight shaking of his servo. He was as terrified as I was at what I had finally admitted to myself.

I had to let Ratchet go.

~

He felt her lean against him for some time, perhaps seconds, perhaps years. Time was heavily distorted here. Every moment was spent waiting for her touch, aching without it, praying she would come back from the instant she left.

He knew nighttime from daytime now, based entirely on the fact that Hana slept on his chest. The nights lasted anywhere from mere moments to what felt like months. Those were the best—when she stayed so long that it seemed like she would never leave again. 

He had been fighting the draw of the Allspark for ages now, but its call never seemed to fade for long. As quickly as he could repress it, it would return. It was excruciating, beyond draining, but her touch kept him fighting. It was a reminder that he was still, somehow, alive.

Paired with the touches were the sounds that occasionally pierced the air—muffled words, the clink of raw energon against the floor, GoundBridges whirling open and closed, strange grinding followed by stabbing twinges in his chassis. The scorching pain was somehow bearable, as it always came coupled with Hana’s gentle touch, her hands pressing against him as she undoubtedly dug around inside his demolished body. After all this time, she was still trying for him. He spent a long time wondering what was wrong with him, where he was, what was happening, and _he_ still had no idea. But she was still fighting for his consciousness, exploring his frame, seeking answers day in and day out. What he done to deserve her? 

_I don’t want to do this._

He blinked and spun around, ripped from his inner monologue, searching for the source of the voice. It was her—he knew it was, who else would it be?—but excited as he was, he was caught off guard. The others had talked to him before, their words swimming somewhere in the distance, echoing but clear enough to distinguish speaker from speaker. He couldn’t remember what they’d said: it had been so long since he’d heard them.

But Hana had yet to say a word to him directly, likely due to cowardice, refusing to admit that he had died on her behalf. The guilt was surely eating her alive. His spark thumped miserably just thinking about it, wishing he could make her understand: he’d done it _for_ her. _Willingly._ In the moment, the thought of losing her was vastly worse than the loss of his own life. 

Now, with her trembling voice tugging at his audials, he realized how foolish he had been. She was suffering, and it was his fault. He had just wanted to protect her—he swore he would— but he didn’t want her to take the blame for his own stupidity.

_So… it’s been a while since I’ve talked to you, hasn’t it?_

He did his best to imagine her, manifesting a version of her small frame, which was simply pacing back and forth, hands behind her back. He had created her so many times, but it still made his fuel lines rush when he saw her in his own optics, even with her lips pursed and her eyes tensely averted. The Allspark’s call ebbed for a few moments.

Her eyes suddenly locked on him; tears were streaming down her face. Her mouth wasn’t moving, but the words continued nonetheless.

_I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing here. Drift told me to listen to my gut, and it’s saying I should talk to you. But I don’t know what to say. What can I say? That I miss you, and I want you to wake up even though your systems are fried? Am I supposed to ask you to magically sit up and have everything go back to normal? I—I feel like I should be saying goodbye. But I’m not ready to do that. I still can’t shake the feeling that I shouldn’t give up on you. But what can I do? I’m not you. I’m not a miracle doctor. I—I tried to f-fix you, and I didn’t do a v-very good job._

“Hana,” Ratchet whispered adoringly, wishing that she would touch him, just for a moment. “You did amazing. I’m right here. I’m still here.”

Her voice sounded as though it was traveling through an ocean, but he could hear every stammer as she continued.

_I’m really sorry. I did the best I could, I swear. I never stopped trying. I never want to stop trying. But… this isn’t fair to you. Is it?_

He felt her hands on his face and placed his own atop of them.

_Your eyes. They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I-if you could just open them for me—one more time—I think that would b-be okay._

She had begun to cry. He could feel the tears on his faceplates, could hear the wavering in her voice. A shard of self loathing jabbed through his spark. He was such an idiot for making her feel like this. 

_I have so many questions. Like the s-stars? You said you wanted to protect them. What does that mean? Why did you say that? I—I never even g-got to say t-that—I—that I—I—I don’t want to say it if you’re not going t-to say it back._

“No—what do you want to say?” he asked softly. “Hana?”

_I’m s-sorry. I did everything I could. I promise. Optimus and Drift are saying I-I should make the right decision, and—and—I think I have to l-let you go._

She paused briefly, breathing hard. Ratchet’s optics widened slowly, comprehension starting to dawn on him. She wasn’t just talking to him for fun, getting things off her chest.

She was getting closure.

“Hana…?”

_This isn’t fair. To anyone. Especially—especially not to you. T-this isn’t what you would have wanted._

“Hana!” Ratchet yelled, panic squeezing an iron fist around his spark. “No—wait!”

_I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry you had to do this to p-protect me. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough, or smart enough. I’m sorry I c-couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry._

“Hana!” Ratchet ran toward her figure, grabbing it and watching it dissolve like sand in his grasp.

_It’s okay, Hana. It’s going to be okay._ Drift’s voice was even more distant than Hana’s and was almost completely drowned out by her sobbing. Ratchet could feel Hana’s hands grasping his faceplates, clutching his head, trying to tug him upright.

“Stop!” Ratchet fell forward. “Wait!”

_He would’ve been proud of you for making the call._

“Drift, you _idiot_ —I’m not dead! Don’t let me die!”

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

_It’s not your fault._

_It is my fault. I’m so sorry, Ratchet. I’m so sorry._

“It’s not! Hana!” Ratchet’s scream was cut off as an awful sensation ripped through his body, sending him to his hands and knees with a cry. His breathing was somehow laborious and easy all at once, his spark pulsing weakly and stronger than ever before. Pain stabbed at his insides, ripping holes in his biomechanisms, shredding them one by one.

The call of the Allspark was growing dangerously stronger. He felt it physically dragging him closer, unbelievably powerful, latching onto him with a steely, hungry grip. His fingers dug into the nonexistent ground as he tried to resist.

He stood up with the last remaining strength he had and began to run as fast as possible in any direction he could. It was like trying to slog through waist-deep mud, and Ratchet felt exhausted almost immediately, but he kept pushing. 

“I’m not going to die! I need to tell her—about the stars!”

Hana’s cries faded into nothingness, followed by echoing goodbyes, and the dark world suddenly burned white and blue. His chest seared with pain, fire searing through his fuel lines, his processor pounding as though trying to escape his helm. The light and agony blinded him immediately, and he staggered badly but kept pushing forward.

With no warning, whatever was dragging him backwards vanished. He cried out and tripped forward over nothing, falling through emptiness into an endless descent.


	6. What He Meant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana is the world's luckiest idiot.

Drift had informed Optimus of my decision while I slept, saving me from having to do it myself. I awoke gripping Ratchet’s head like it was a life raft, eyes puffy and red from the tears that had lulled me to sleep.

The Autobots slowly crowded the medical bay as morning dawned on the base, each of them staring at Ratchet’s form with empty expressions on their faces. Dazed and barely comprehending my own movements, I soon found myself holding the plug to his life support, hands shaking wildly.

“Does anyone have any direct objections to this decision?” Optimus asked quietly.

Bumblebee beeped in a low, sad tone. 

“Hana’s his conjunx,” Bulkhead mumbled. “If she thinks that this is the right thing to do, then…”

I bit my lip, forcing myself not to cry. Not now. Not here.

“Has—has everybody said goodbye?” I asked, fighting to maintain a steady voice.

Everyone nodded. 

I closed my eyes, holding the plug in my fist. I wanted to pull, to get it over with, but my hand refused to move. I gritted my teeth and tried again. No dice. My hands were frozen.

I turned to Drift, eyes sparkling with tears. “I can’t do it,” I whispered.

He leaned down and put a servo on top of mine. “It’s okay,” he said reassuringly, voice cracking hard, rendering his comfort moot.

I swallowed my tears and clenched my fist tighter. My heart thumped wildly, begging me not to do exactly what I was about to do.

“Goodbye, Ratchet,” I said softly. “I-I’m really sorry.”

Mustering my courage, I yanked the plug from the wall.

Ratchet’s vitals immediately began to plummet, the wild screeching and beeping of machines filling my brain to the brim. His body began to twitch as his systems critically failed, dipping into the red zone, his venting harsh and his spark shooting so much electricity into the air that my skin prickled. I bent over, covering my ears, shaking violently, a single thought spiking into my mind.

_I’m listening to him die._

“I can’t be here,” I yelled, pushing Drift’s hand away and turning to run. My heart was overflowing with sorrow, shattering into more and more pieces every time I heard the bloody scream of a system failure.

Arcee stepped forward to grab me. “You’ll regret it if you leave,” she said quickly. “Trust me.”

“I killed Ratchet,” I said wildly, clasping my palms tighter against my ears, attempting to wriggle from her grasp. “I killed him _twice._ I can’t listen to this. I’m sorry!”

I broke free and started to flee.

“Hana—wait!” Bulkhead called.

“Let her go,” Optimus said tensely. “She—"

A loud, rattling gasp filled the air. Everyone halted as the sensors attached to Ratchet went berserk, spiking massively upwards, filling with stronger signals than any of us had seen in weeks. Energon began to circulate through him once again, cascading blue across the walls. His spark surged in a flash of light that nearly blinded me, even with my back turned.

I whirled around. 

Ratchet’s chest was moving up and down rapidly, taking in massive, ragged breaths. Bewildered, I turned to the life support machine for answers—it was still completely shut down after being unplugged.

“ _Hana!_ ”

I couldn’t believe it. His voice filled my ears, as cantankerous as it had ever been, though clearly in pain and incredibly desperate. I was frozen in place as the Autobots rushed Ratchet, whose arms had begun moving stiffly, attempting to push himself upright, underused hydraulics hissing and pistons screeching as he moved.

“Where is she?” he shouted. He sounded panicked and winded, as though he had been running for miles, moving weakly but wildly as he struggled to examine the base.

Drift was trying to force Ratchet to lie back down, his face a crazed mix of confusion and unbelievable joy. Ratchet managed to jolt upright, flinging the swordsman backwards and meeting my gaze, his widened optics bluer than I had ever seen them. His faceplates froze as though in disbelief.

I simply stared at him for a few seconds. He was dead… wasn’t he? He had been inches from a complete shutdown, functioning only because of the life support I had just yanked from the wall. I had _watched_ all of his systems fail. Was I dreaming? Was this even possible?

“Ratchet?” I whispered. His face broke into a smile.

Nothing mattered anymore once I saw him smiling like that—I charged toward him, vaulting onto the berth and throwing my full weight against him, hugging him as tightly as possible. He slammed backwards from the impact, his arms weakly wrapping around me, pulling me closer.

“You—you were—you were dead!” I said, my voice muffled as I clung to him.

“Not quite,” he replied quietly, arms quivering. “I couldn’t be. Not with—not with you still alive.”

“Ratchet—I—”

“Stop apologizing.” His hand feebly began to stroke my back. “It’s annoying.”

“No—Ratchet, I love you.”

He paused. I felt him smile. Drift squealed.

“Hana… I love you too.”

Drift stepped forward, peering nosily into my line of sight, mouth curved into a proud grin. I met his gaze, unafraid of letting tears of joy streak across my face.

I lay across him for endless moments, tracing my fingers up and down his cheek, relishing in the heat that flowed through them, the miniscule reactions of my touch against him. He could _feel_ me. He was _alive_. His servo traced up and down my spine, holding me close, small drops of lubricant leaking from the corners of his optics and melding with my own free-flowing tears.

My hands began to shake, and Ratchet squeezed me tighter, enough to press every breath of air from my lungs. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

I believed him.

“So, uh,” Drift said after some time, poking the medic’s faceplates. “What the hell just happened?”

I forced myself off Ratchet to allow him to speak. He tried to sit upright again, collapsing backwards, breathing hard.

“Relax,” I said, moving to the side of his head, both hands on his face. He shifted slightly so I was in his peripheral vision, his heavy venting making my hair flutter.

“I… I’m unsure,” Ratchet said quietly, looking at Drift. “How… long has it been?”

“Three weeks, old friend,” Optimus said, placing a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder, a larger smile on his face than I had ever seen. “And we are very happy that you have come back to us.”

“ _Three weeks?_ ” Ratchet repeated, looking stunned. “It felt like—I thought—I was all the way at—”

His optics suddenly dilated. “Arcee— _Cliffjumper._ ”

Arcee stiffened. “Huh?”

“Cliffjumper says hi.”

I had never seen Arcee cry before and was therefore stunned to see large droplets of optical lubricant fill her eyes.

“You… saw Cliffjumper?”

“Ambulon,” Ratchet said, turning to Drift. “Trailcutter, Skids. Pipes. They were all there.”

I looked to Drift for answers, but he was busy staring at Ratchet with his jaw on the floor. 

“But—but they’re dead,” Drift said incredulously. “They have been for centuries.”

“I know.”

“What _happened_ to you?” I asked. 

“Presumably, I died,” Ratchet said grimly. “But then a large surge of energy knocked me into some sort of stasis. I’m afraid I don’t remember well. I just know I saw them, all of them.”

“You’re welcome,” Drift said in smug awe.

"And I... I don't know. I remember trying to fight against it, but it kept coming back, and I—" Ratchet inhaled deeply and lifted his head to examine his badly repaired injuries. “What... is all this?”

“I tried my best,” I said defensively. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

He beamed at me, to my surprise. “You did wonderfully, Hana. Sloppy, but you’re right. I am alive. Somehow.”

“Teach me how to fix it,” I said immediately. “I’m gonna make sure you get better. I promise. Completely better.”

Optimus stepped forward. “I think Ratchet needs time to rest before he will be fully capable of performing surgery on himself,” he said firmly. 

Ratchet put his head back down, looking cross. I smiled.

“I missed that,” I whispered to him.

“Come again?”

“You, giving everyone nasty looks,” I said. “I really missed it.”

“That seems like a strange thing to long for.”

“I’ve learned that if you aren’t pissed off, you’re probably dying.”

“Oh, please.”

I couldn’t resist hugging him once again. He shuttered his optics, putting his hands over me.

“The stars,” he said quietly.

I blinked. “What?”

“I wanted to tell you about the stars.”

His dying face flashed in front of my eyes, lubricant and energon smeared across his face plates, desperately repeating something over and over about the stars, providing no answers. The memory urged me to hold him closer, hoping that if I was dreaming, I would never wake up.

“What about them?”

“I’ve always hated stars.”

I frowned. “That’s… not _quite_ what I expected you to say.”

“No—just listen—I _used_ to,” Ratchet continued. “Stars reminded me of the war. They were always there, quietly observing as Cybertronians ripped each other apart, doing nothing to help. I spent years among them, watching those I care about die with no hope of being saved. I hated the stars for being so passive.

“But then… that first drive we took together.” Ratchet met my gaze, looking wistful. “You looked at the stars, and your eyes were full of wonder. There’s a whole universe out there that you’ve never seen. You thought the stars were beautiful, even when they were the ugliest things I could imagine.”

“Ratchet—”

“I decided I wanted to protect them,” he said, pushing past my interruption. “Instead of hating them, I wanted every star to shine brighter. For you, so you could look at them. And… the idea of open space suddenly wasn’t so terrible anymore. If you, so innocent and unaffected by the war, saw the stars as something positive… maybe I should do the same.”

I simply stared at him.

“I’d been driven by this war for far too long,” Ratchet sighed. “It was the only thing I thought about. Stop Megatron, end the war, go home. It was all I ever wanted until I saw you looking at the stars. Then… I had a reason to fight. A reason to live. I want to fight for the stars, not against them.”

Ratchet’s fingers tightened on me. “You gave me purpose again. You look so beautiful when the stars are shining in your eyes. I wanted to protect that… to protect them… to protect you.”

He shrugged slightly. “ _That’s what I meant._ ”

I didn’t know what to say. My only response was to press my lips against his face and hold him as though I would never let go.

~

It took Ratchet a ridiculously long time to force himself into sleep mode that night, terrified that his sudden and unexplained revival may only be a dream, paralyzed at the thought of being locked in that silent, senseless world once again. His optics began to shutter as he gazed at Hana, dozing off against him, nestled comfortably in the crook of his arm, smiling as widely as she had been when awake. He gazed down at her, stroking her back gently with one finger, savoring the sensation of her weight against him, the feeling of her soft skin under his digit. Her lips curled farther upwards at his touch—his spark fluttered.

His optics flickered off and panic seized his spark as darkness filled his vision. He overwrote his programming to quickly bring them back online, his intake hissing as he took sharp breaths. Hana shifted slightly, murmuring something and nuzzling closer. He stared at her, overwriting every indicator that he could safely enter sleep mode, refusing to be engulfed in nothingness. 

She was here. She was finally here, and he didn’t want her to disappear, even if only for a few hours.

His engine must have been whirring quite loudly because Hana stirred, eyes shifting tiredly onto his. “Ratchet?” she mumbled.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m fine.”

Her head cascaded sleepily downward for just a moment before she jerked it back up. “Why’d you say that?” she asked suspiciously. “I didn’t ask if you were fine.”

“Just—reassuring you.”

She pushed herself upright, rubbing sleep from her eyes and stretching. “What’s the problem?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said immediately. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” She saw through him as though he were transparent, as usual. “Lie down. You’re going to sleep first for once.”

He began to protest as she stood up, surveying his damaged body. “Hana—”

“Hush, pumpkin head,” she said. “Shut down your optics. I’m right here. I’m not sleeping until you do.”

“I don’t want to,” he argued childishly. She sighed.

“Then suffer with the guilt of keeping me awake,” she said plainly. “I’ll be right here all night. If you get scared or want to wake me up for any reason, just throw me at a wall. That might wake me up.”

He chuckled dryly. “ _Maybe._ ”

It was hard to see her expressions in the darkness, but he could tell she was smiling.

“Does anything hurt?” She had begun prodding at him gently, trying to locate any sources of pain. He winced as she pressed a hand against his helm, quickly hoping she hadn’t noticed.

“I’m—”

“If you say _fine_ , I’m going to beat your ass straight back to the Allspark,” she said shortly. “You twitched when I touched your head. Does it hurt?”

His answer was easily provided through a pointed lack of response.

She ran her hands more softly over his helm, tracing the delicate lines, sensitively attempting to determine where it hurt the most. Try as he might to resist, when her hands brushed against one of his temples, he grimaced.

“Right there, then?” She lightened her touch and began to rub her hands in small circles, urging the aches from his helm. His faceplates grew hot with embarrassment as he heard his regular exhales morph into quiet, grateful groans.

Her hands were gentle against him, each movement just firm enough to keep the pain at bay. She was paying close attention to each of his reactions, every sound he made, continuing what felt good and immediately stopping anything that didn’t. His optics began to sputter off once again, and he brought them back online almost instinctively.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Hana whispered, clambering toward his face and straddling his neck, her tender massage never faltering. “Keep them off. I’m right here, Ratchet. I’ve got a million cables hooked up to you—if something happens, I’ll wake up and fix it. You don’t have to be scared.”

How did she do that—how did she know in mere instants how to calm his processors so effectively? He was _deathly_ afraid of shutting down and not coming back online. It was _more_ than fear—he couldn’t devise a strong enough word to describe the emotion squeezing his spark. But he hadn’t _told_ her that. How could she read him so easily?

He failed to craft a response, instead obliging with her words and tentatively allowing his optics to go offline. Swallowed by the sudden darkness, he felt his spark contract nervously, but forced himself to remain calm and focus on Hana’s tender massaging. 

“Are you comfortable?” she asked, her breath close to his forehead. “Too cold? Too warm? Your neck isn’t supported very well—oh! Hold on! Don’t open your eyes!”

He felt her leap from the berth and run from the main room. It took immense concentration to keep his optics offline, awaiting her return, growing more tense every second she was away.

Soon enough, he heard her small footsteps reenter the medbay, and within moments she was pushing at his legs and arms, easing something soft underneath his stiff knees and elbows. His optics flickered online for just long enough to see her cramming cushions all around him. The blue light alerted her, and she snapped her eyes toward him, frowning.

“Turn those off,” she said firmly, and he did.

Each of his aching joints were soon supported by pillows, curving him into a far more comfortable position that threatened to throw him into sleep mode immediately. He fought the urge, waiting for Hana to finish.

“Feel better?” she asked, prodding one of the bolsters. He muttered something incoherent—his glossa felt too big for his mouth.

Her small hands began to tug at his digits as she began to climb, and he felt himself _whimper_. His faceplates flooded with heat, optics popping back online and quickly meeting with Hana’s incredibly amused expression.

“What was _that?_ ” she asked, clearly holding back laughter. He scowled.

She grasped the finger and began to trace its outlines, pressing at the seams with incredible care. Ratchet’s lids lowered as his optics shuttered off, a long, slow exhale easing his chassis deeper into the now-comfortable berth.

Hana didn’t say a word, directing all of her attention on his hands, smoothing the stiffness from every wire, working out kinks and soreness that must have been persisting for centuries. He allowed himself to melt under her touch, feeling more vulnerable and somehow safer than he had ever been. The sensation was divine—she worked through each finger on its own, slipping in and out of every aching seam, dissolving the deep burn of overuse that he’d somehow never noticed before.

She paused to move to his other hand, and he found himself craving her touch the moment it left, addicted to the feeling of her attention on his most precious assets. No one ever took care of him—he had been a tireless caregiver since being forged, destined for greatness with these aching servos, yet here she was, thanklessly massaging him without even being prompted.

He wanted to say something, _anything_ to alert her to the swelling in his spark, the relaxation and exhaustion dripping into his fuel lines, but he was somehow speechless. His servo was lifted toward her face, a small kiss planting in the center of his palm.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His desperation to respond was overwritten by his programming, which was firmly demanding he shut down. He forced his optics online one more time to meet her gaze, trying to return the statement without words.

She was preoccupied with his hands, ignoring his pleading optics. Her fingers danced over his, all of her attention focused on him.

It was strange, to be cared for like this. She wasn’t even aware that he was awake at all, asking for nothing, only giving. She had spent weeks tirelessly tending to his unconscious body with no praise and had yet to cease, persisting only for his sake and his alone.

Through the exhaustion and calmness settling over his chassis, he felt an explosion of emotions that he knew words couldn’t express. What could he do to show her how he felt—to somehow get across how thankful he was?

He clenched his fingers as much as he could around her, pausing her massage for just a moment, and she blinked before meeting his gaze. Her dark eyes left him speechless, frying his processors, and he blanked on what exactly his plan had been.

But it didn’t seem to matter: she smiled at him and kissed the tip of his digit softly before continuing.

Unable to stay online any longer, Ratchet felt his body sink into the cushions, his processor carrying him into shutdown. With her touch still tracing his outline, he succumbed to the darkness that enveloped him, grateful that even while surrounded by seemingly nothing, her presence never faltered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE I TOLD YOU HE'S FINE
> 
> Also there's no way to NOT be super heavy-handed in explaining how the hell he's not dead, so here it is: basically, he bitched at the Well of Allsparks for so long, and when it finally got a chance to actually nab him, he fought against it so hard that it was like "fuck it, you're annoying, go live then." I like to imagine the Well of Allsparks having some sort of sentience and it getting so tired of him refusing to die that it just threw its hands up and said "FINE." Also Hana's repairs were decent-ish so his body was still well enough to function, but he got a long struggle ahead, that's for sure. Hana's not THAT good, just good enough for another spark surge to not explode him.
> 
> (If Drift had tried resurrecting him again, same thing probably would have happened, buuuuuut they're all dumb.)
> 
> Give Ratchet Love and Massages 2k18


	7. Control Freaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet is doing an exceptional job of being a giant pain in the ass. Knockout has no chill whatsoever.

“Hey—stop it—sit _down!_ ”

“I know what I’m doing, thank you very much!”

“Hana! Crack your whip! Control the beast! _Wake up,_ dammit!”

I awoke abruptly to the feeling of a finger jabbing me hard in the stomach, and jolted upright so quickly that I tumbled from Ratchet’s berth and crashed to the floor. Drift’s feet were dangerously close to stepping on me as he pressed against Ratchet’s shoulders, trying to manhandle the medic into place.

“Wha’s happening?” I asked, my voice slurred with leftover drowsiness. 

“I’m _trying_ to get a read on my vitals!” Ratchet said angrily, kicking his legs viciously in effort to sit upright, hydraulics whining angrily at his harsh movements. Drift looked down at me with pleading optics.

“Help me,” he begged. I sighed, rubbing sleep from my eyes and dragging myself into a standing position.

“Ratchet, you know you can’t get up yet,” I said for what felt like the millionth time. “You—”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Ratchet argued indignantly, grabbing Drift’s arms, the loud screeching of metal from his partially-repaired chest indicating otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” I said, exasperated. “Lie _down._ ”

I clambered back onto the berth, snatching the scanner from Drift’s hands and leaping for one of Ratchet’s outstretched hands. My grip landed on his thumb, and I yanked hard, forcing it down.

“I’m—”

“No, you’re _not,_ ” I repeated firmly. I staggered across Ratchet’s chest, kneeling by his chest and activating the scanner. I showed him the results with an accusatory glare. “See that? That spot right there? That’s you _exacerbating your injuries._ It’s been _three days._ Stop trying to be your own doctor. You should know better.”

Ratchet grumbled angrily and lay back down as I performed my routine morning scans, yawning loudly as I did so. Drift sat at the foot of the berth, elbows on his knees, breathing hard and watching me closely.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he said sympathetically. Ratchet’s helm snapped upright, his faceplates bearing a magnificent scowl. I waved my hand at him. He growled and lowered himself once again.

“Plenty of practice,” I said darkly. I heard the creak of Ratchet’s servo sliding across the berth, reaching for God knows what, and I kicked him in the nose. He yelped and grabbed his face, knocking me onto his chest.

“What the _hell,_ Hana?”

“ _Stop touching things!_ ”

“This is ridiculous!” Ratchet said through gritted teeth. “I’m completely fine and there is no need for all this fuss!”

“Oh, really?” I said, scowling at him amusedly as I walked back toward his face. “Try and stand up, tough guy.”

Ratchet’s optics practically turned black as he glared at me.

“That’s what I thought,” I said, wiping away the energon that had started dripping from his nose. “Remember when you used to yell at me for not _sitting still_ when I was recovering?”

“Entirely different scenarios!” Ratchet argued.

“You know what? You’re right,” I said plainly. “ _I_ didn’t _die._ ”

Ratchet’s jaw clenched. “I’m going to need to start rehabilitation in a few days—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said dismissively. “You’ll get to it. It’s too soon to start now. First of all, we need to get you properly patched up. Your spark chamber is healing fine from yesterday, but there’s some cosmetic work that needs to be done. If you _insist,_ you can walk me through the design process, but that means I can’t put you under. Your choice.”

Ratchet pondered his options very briefly. “I’ll teach you,” he decided.

“What a surprise,” Drift grumbled. I giggled as Ratchet ground his teeth.

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch when I slice half your chest off,” I said, unsurprised by his choice but amused by it nonetheless. “You’re really _that_ much of a control freak?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t say I never gave you anything,” I said with a shrug, unable to conceal a chuckle. “What do I need?”

~

Knockout hated humans.

No, it was more than hate—he _despised_ them. Their design, the flow of their bodies, the dull, colorless exterior, the sticky complexity of their internal layout, the way they sprayed red liquid _everywhere_ when he cut them open. It was disgusting, it was chunky, it stained his finish, and it was _impossible to clean_.

So how in Primus’ name had he ended up in a room full of them?

Given, most of them were out of commission. Knockout surveyed the untidy pile in the corner of the room with interest—some of them were glowing violently blue, others with their limbs detached, all of them unmoving with pained expressions glued on their faces. He rolled his optics in annoyance—they were so _whiny_ , and rarely shut up when he was merely trying to improve them. Such a thankless task.

“Please—let me go!”

Knockout directed his attention to the human strapped to his operating table. This one was particularly ugly. Ratchet’s human had at least possessed interesting facial features and a mop of wavy hair that shined nicely in the light. This one was completely unremarkable, plucked from the a road where the Autobot pet had once been sighted. It had easy to catch due to some form of intoxication which Knockout didn’t care to investigate. 

It had stayed quiet for the most part upon capture, perhaps due to its head trauma, but it had not _shut up_ since awakening with just a few measly fingers missing.

“I would love to,” Knockout said irritably, studying the human’s cropped hair, its lanky, unimpressive frame. “But I’m under orders, and _you’ve_ managed to stay alive for quite some time. Congratulations, by the way.”

The humans so far had been revolting fragile. First they died from too much energon, then from not enough. Then they had too many human fluids. Then they didn’t have enough. The only one that had survived its amputations had somehow escaped Knockout’s medbay and promptly gotten crushed under the sole of a Vehicon. Another one bashed its own head against the operating table until it cracked open and leaked to death.

It was _beyond_ annoying. And Megatron only got more enraged as Knockout’s failures increased. Why had _Knockout_ gotten blamed for slicing one in half when it attacked? It was merely an act of self defense.

“What _are_ you?” the human yelled, struggling against its bonds. “Where am I? Where’s B—”

“Are you _ever_ going to stop talking?”

Its shrill voice was sharp enough to slice through sheet metal, Knockout thought with a roll of his optics. Perhaps it would get along with Starscream. In fact, Knockout would _vastly_ prefer to be with Starscream right now rather than this screechy bag of flesh. Starscream, at least, had a nice frame, something to admire as he yammered endlessly about whatever his newest scheme was—this human looked as though it would collapse if Knockout vented on it the wrong way.

“What are you doing to me?” the human asked, struggling harder. “ _Why am I here?_ ”

“Oh, stop it with the chatter.” This was getting tiresome. “I have work to do. Do me a favor and try not to leak too much.”

Knockout transformed his arm into his trustiest tool—a saw—and lowered it toward the human. It shrieked, bucking intensely as Knockout pressed the spinning blade into its left shoulder, frowning as the red fluid splattered everywhere but grateful that the shock sent the human into a silent, offline state.

With its bland arm removed, Knockout increased the flow of energon through the human just slightly, attaching a beautifully designed (if he did say so himself) Cybertronian arm to its leaking stump and beginning to fuse it as carefully as possible. The arm was a bit large, as this human was much smaller than the last, but Megatron was looking for results, not aesthetic. Knockout cringed at the concept.

He barely registered the sound of the door to his medbay sliding open and closed, pulling away from his work for only a moment. He glanced sideways to see Breakdown leaning curiously over his shoulder, staring at the human. Knockout’s spark brightened a little bit.

“Gross,” Breakdown remarked.

Knockout snorted in agreement. “Just look at this mess,” he muttered, gesturing halfheartedly to the crimson stains on the operating table. “And it’s all over _me_ , too. How bad is the grudge is Megatron holding against that stupid Autobot girl?”

“Pretty bad,” Breakdown said calmly. “Here—let me take care of the cleaning.”

Without another word, he grabbed a rag from a nearby sink and began to wipe at the rivers of liquid drenching the tables and floor. Knockout returned to the human, which was turning an unfortunate shade of grey. _That_ wasn’t a good sign.

“I think it’s dead,” he said to no one in particular. He jabbed a digit into its stomach. It didn’t give any sort of response. His lips tightened in annoyance as he yanked the artificial arm from its bloody stump, unhooking the energon transfusion and tossing the human into the growing pile of dead organics. 

Breakdown watched with obvious amusement as the medic stomped to the corner of the room. Knockout only had one human left before he’d have to go hunting again, and he was more motivated than ever to succeed with this batch. _These_ were from a location the Vehicons had once visited while tracking Ratchet and his pet—and the human had been spotted directly affiliating with one of them. Sure, Knockout had just killed that one by forgetting to give it human fluid transfusions, but at least he had another shot.

He smirked as he dragged the final unconscious human from its place against the wall. He had found this one with relative ease, as it had been stalking around the area shouting at everyone it came into contact with. Easy prey, and no one seemed to mind when it got taken out of their sights.

Knockout had been vastly irritated by _something_ about this particular organic, something he couldn’t quite put a digit on. Now that they were up close and personal, he easily deduced the source of his annoyance.

“You look a lot like her,” he said smoothly to the female as he placed it on the slightly cleaner operating table. It had the same dark hair, the same slender frame, though its eyes were far more narrow, its skin folding loosely against its bones. Immediately after it roused, its expression morphed into sheer terror. It struggled wildly against his grip, eyes wide and crazed with panic.

“What the fuck do you want?” the human screamed at him. “Tell me where I am!”

Ratchet’s pet hadn’t looked at Knockout like that in some time—the thought made his tanks churn angrily. _She_ wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Her expression was always one of anger, malice, and worst of all, determination. She was, somehow, capable of getting the upper hand on him, and she knew it as well as he did. Her smugness was infuriating. Who gave her the right to such confidence?

He leaned close to the human, examining her features. They looked _very_ similar. Far too much so. Knockout smirked and delicately traced a claw through the flesh on its cheek. The human screeched in pain as red liquid beaded around the wound.

“Wonderful features,” Knockout said coldly. “Oh, you have _no idea_ how much I’d love to destroy this face of yours.”

He pushed his finger deeper, pressing against something hard beneath the flesh. The human’s nerve receptors must have overloaded its weak human processors, because it passed out almost immediately. Alive, but silenced. He kept moving his finger under the skin, watching the flesh shift against his touch, fluids spilling out and gushing across Knockout’s servo. 

He chuckled. Humans were so weak. So easy to disfigure.

“Knockout!” Breakdown cried, rushing over with optics wide as he saw the scene unfold. “What are you _doing?_ ”

“It’s not fair,” Knockout muttered, yanking his finger backwards, dragging a large strip of flesh with it. “ _Ratchet_ got to flaunt his stupid _human_ everywhere. _He_ got to go on missions with her whenever he wanted to. _He_ got to—to— _whatever_ it is they did together.”

“Ratchet died,” Breakdown pointed out. “You saw it yourself. I saw it. We all did.”

“That’s not good enough,” Knockout said coldly. “They still had their time together.”

“And that bothers you why, exactly?” Breakdown asked tentatively, placing the rag on Knockout’s chest and gently rubbing stains from his paint before they could sink in.

Knockout watched his assistant bitterly. “It just does.”

Breakdown pressed his lips together, immediately indicating that Knockout’s vague words had reached him. The medic didn’t push Breakdown away as the rag traveled upwards, caressing his filthy face, hardly an action of cleaning and more so of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Breakdown managed. Knockout shrugged, averting his optics. “But you and I both know that maiming these humans isn’t going to help. You’re just gonna piss off Master, and that’ll make things worse.”

“I suppose,” Knockout agreed darkly, placing his servo over Breakdown’s to pause his cleaning for a moment. Breakdown forced himself into Knockout’s line of sight, meeting his gaze with concerned yellow optics.

“Is there anything I can say to make you feel better?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Knockout grumbled. “Just… stay here. And help me with this last human. I want it to be this one.”

“Why?”

“Look at it,” Knockout said with a smug smile jerking at his faceplates. “The shape of the jaw, the cheekbones, the eyes. It looks just like her. I want its face gone. I want to pull it off myself.”

Breakdown’s lips twitched upwards. “That’s my Knockout,” he murmured.

Knockout frowned. “Don’t say that on the ship. Soundwave might hear you.”

Breakdown sighed. “Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, yes, we're in Con City now. They finally get their time to shine. I have so much fun writing them. I hope you can tell.


	8. Additions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about we make the cyborg MORE of a cyborg?

I pressed the burning scalpel carefully into one of the plates on Ratchet’s chest, torn between laughing at him and pitying him as he hissed in pain.

“You signed up for this,” I said, dragging the blade a few inches to the left. “How’s that?”

“It’s fine,” Ratchet managed through tightly ground teeth. “Now, remove that piece and you should be able to loosen the screw underneath.”

Energon beaded around my scalpel. I glanced at Ratchet nervously.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Turn up the temperature on the blade. It should be soldering the wounds as they’re made.”

“But that’ll hurt you!”

He gave me a rare smile. “I survived a bullet to the chest. I can manage some minor repairs.”

“Minor, my _ass_ ,” I grumbled. “I’m taking your _windshield_ off.”

“It’s just kibble, it won’t hurt much,” Ratchet reassured me. “The worst part was my spark chamber, and you fixed most of that when I was in stasis.”

“I guess. Just relax, okay? If you’re tense, you’re gonna bleed more.”

My hand slipped slightly as I loosened the screw from Ratchet’s chest, sending the sharp end dragging across sensitive wiring below. Ratchet yelped as the air crackled angrily with electricity.

“Ah, damn,” I muttered, checking over the wires. “Sorry about that. I think I scraped something pretty bad.”

“No, it’s alright, it just surprised me,” Ratchet mumbled. 

“There was a burst of charge, though,” I said distractedly, poking at the wiring. “Something must have—”

“Burst of charge?” Ratchet said curiously. “What are you talking about? There was no charge.”

“Yes, there was!” I argued.

“No, there wasn’t.”

“Yes, th—”

“When did you feel it?” Ratchet interrupted sharply, his expression suddenly growing concerned. I shrugged.

“Right as you cried out, I guess. I’m pretty sure I just—”

My body began to tip over as Ratchet started pushing himself upright.

“Hey!” I barked. “Get down!”

“You need an examination,” he said harshly as I grabbed one of his arms, holding it in place. “When was the last time you had one?”

Still yanking on his wrist, boosters on my shoes popping out to force my feet to stay put, I pondered. “A couple of months, maybe more,” I said. 

“Those are supposed to be _monthly_ exams!”

“I’ve been a bit busy trying not to let you _die!_ ”

“That was only three weeks!”

“ _Only?_ ”

“Stop _jumping_ on me!”

“ _Lie back down!_ ”

Drift glanced up from the datapad he was reading, sighing at our squabble and standing to help shove Ratchet back into place. 

“This is ridiculous!” Ratchet snapped as Drift pinned him to the berth. “I am more than capable of giving Hana a routine exam!”

“Maybe so, but she’s also capable of doing it herself,” Drift said firmly. “You’re temporarily retired, doc. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Ratchet sighed dramatically.

“Get the black scanner from that cabinet,” he grunted, pointing across the medbay. “Drift, you use it on Hana.”

“Why?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t a normal exam fine?”

Ratchet frowned. “Drift, do it.”

I shrugged at Drift, who looked as confused as I felt. He grabbed the sensor from a cabinet and began to wave it over me, his optics cycling wide as he did so.

“No _way_ ,” he whispered. “Ratchet—this—”

“What?” My stomach twitched nervously.

Drift didn’t answer, instead opting to show the results to Ratchet, who stared at me with his faceplates tangled between bewilderment and amazement.

“Hana, I want you to listen very carefully to me,” he said slowly. 

“Okay.”

He said nothing. I stared at him, lifting an eyebrow.

“Uh… are you gonna say anything?”

“No,” Ratchet said crossly. “ _Listen._ ”

“What do you—”

“Listen with your heart, Hana, not your ears,” Drift said in a lofty tone.

“What kind of hippie bullsh—”

“Just _do_ it.” Ratchet looked incredibly stern.

I frowned but obliged, trying to make sense of Drift’s prattle. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on... whatever I was supposed to be focusing on. My fingertips were prickling uncomfortably, making it incredibly difficult to think about anything else.

As I attempted to drag my attention from my hands, the air suddenly began to feel much thicker. Not heavy with humidity or pressing in as though I was afraid, but instead as though something was traveling _through_ it. Moving, shifting, twisting towards me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up as I felt it, electric in nature but somehow softer, gentler. It wasn’t unpleasant in any way, more strange and unexpected than anything.

“What… is that?” I asked nervously, prying my eyes open.

Drift and Ratchet shared a knowing glance.

“Here,” Drift said, holding the scanner toward me. “This is used to scan for internal damages. Look closely.”

I peered at the small screen—it looked similar to the scanner Ratchet had in his arm, with my image plastered on it. I could see large blobs where my internals sat: the bones in my arms and chest, the lungs, the heart. I looked at Ratchet, confused.

“Okay, so, all my my organs are there,” I said, trying to figure out what he was getting at. “Good to know my gallbladder hasn’t fallen out.”

“You misunderstand,” Ratchet said, deathly calm. “That’s a Cybertronian scanner. It scans for _metal._ Not flesh.”

“I—” My voice hitched. “Then— how did it—?”

Ratchet motioned for me to come toward him, and I obliged, allowing him to take my right hand and look at it closely.

“The bruising seems to be disappearing,” he said curtly, tilting it toward me.

I stared at my hand: he was right. The bruises I’d had for ages, ever since Arcee ran me over, stained with pockets of energon, were beginning to fade.

“Is that a bad sign?” I asked, my voice becoming shrill with worry. “Lie to me and say I’m gonna live a long happy life if its a bad sign.”

“It seems that by exposing the living metal within you directly to my spark, the metal began to Cyberform your internal mechanisms,” Ratchet said. His optics were wide, stunned as he revealed his own theory. 

“That doesn’t sound good,” I said, grasping my left arm almost involuntarily. 

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Do you feel any different?” Ratchet asked. “Have you had trouble eating or breathing?”

I thought hard. “Not really, no,” I replied nervously. 

“She’ll need more energon if that’s really the case,” Drift said to Ratchet.

“Won’t energon sort of, you know, kill me?” I knew enough about energon to know it was dangerous to humans upon mere exposure. Consumption was a whole other concern. My stomach started to ache.

“I knew there would be complications,” Ratchet said, suddenly looking quite angry. “She was able to handle the minor changes, but who _knows_ how her body will react to _this?_ ”

He was breathing hard, optics narrowed and dark with obvious fear and frustration. I rushed toward his helm, stroking the seams comfortingly.

“It’s fine,” I said with absolutely no basis for my hypothesis. “My body is used to energon and metal by now. It’ll be okay.”

Ratchet looked skeptical but accepted my comfort quietly. Electricity prickled my skin once again, making me visibly shiver.

Oddly enough, Ratchet chuckled. “That’s going to be annoying,” he said softly.

“What is?”

“That electricity you feel. That’s my electromagnetic field. Every Cybertronian has one. It’s like an aura, spiking when intended or when emotions run exceptionally high. It seems you’re able to detect them now.”

“That... honestly sounds fake.”

“You get used to them after a while,” Drift said with a shrug. “Eventually you block most of them out unless they’re directed at you. Doc’s just mad because now you’re gonna know every time he thinks about—”

His voice faltered and faded to static as Ratchet glowered at him.

“Well, uh,” I said awkwardly, “neat, I guess.”

I felt as though I should be more concerned, panicking at the concept of my body being overtaken by Cybertronian metal. I _tried_ to make myself nervous, but so many strange things happened in this silo that I was only mildly perturbed. I only had thirty percent of my fingers left. And now my organs were being coated in metal. Sure. As they do.

“When I’m a complete cyborg, can I have a transformation cog?” I asked Ratchet as I returned to his chassis to finish fixing his damaged windshield.

“Absolutely not.”

“Just in my hand? A little baby one?”

“ _No._ ”

“Pretty please?”

“Finish fixing the awful job you did on my chest first and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You said I did fine!”

“Says the one that just jabbed a screw into my glass.”

“First of all, it was your wiring, not your glass.”

“Do you two ever stop bickering?” Drift interjected, looking amused.

We both whirled to face him. He cringed.

“For Primus’ sake, don’t do that,” he said, covering his optics. “Just _one_ of those glares is bad enough.”

Ratchet and I met gazes and smiled at each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update to tide everyone over until I get back in the swing of writing! I apologize for slow updates, I've hit a hell of a block recently but I'm doing my best to push through. And I promise this isn't a useless chapter. You'll see.


	9. Stupid Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands together excitedly* Megatron, you bitch.

Megatron hadn’t stopped pacing since he’d assigned Knockout to manage his newest project. He was sure to wear a hole in the floor at this point, spending every hour that he wasn’t working walking back and forth, back and forth, waiting for the doctor to finish with frustratingly bated breaths. Megatron hated himself for even undergoing such a project: though the prospects were promising, Megatron’s servos trembled with rage as he thought of his ship crawling with very same life forms that Optimus valued so deeply.

Humans. 

Megatron loathed them. Particularly so because of one meddling human. She had managed to infuriate him in so many ways, for so many reasons. Leading him astray with the decryption and somehow escaping the ship. Ripping the Great Sword right from under his nose. Attacking his officers. 

Worst of all? _Intentionally interfering in a fight with the Prime._ Even the stupidest of soldiers knew to never, ever step between Megatron and his enemy. And she hadn’t even paid the proper price—the medic had taken the hit for her.

How idiotic. How wonderfully _noble_ of him.

Megatron hadn’t seen any trace of the Autobots since the incident, and he was torn between relishing the situation and despising it. Regardless of whether the medic had survived or not, he wanted the human dead, and it was proving hard to kill what one cannot find. She had come too far, remained alive too many times, and she was disrupting the balance of power in far too many ways. The scales were not supposed to be tipping in the Autobot’s favor—even less so because of a being so infinitesimal.

She was an abomination of nature, a revolting, mutated combination of the organic and inorganic, and it continued to baffle Megatron that she had even survived whatever procedures she had undergone. Knockout was certainly proving that building such a creation was nothing short of a miracle—he was killing humans faster than anyone could collect them. Megatron vaguely wondered whether that was a testament to the Autobot medic’s skills, or merely proof that Knockout was more incompetent than he had originally thought.

How did Prime stand having something like her around? The thought of him made Megatron scowl bitterly. Prime, so weak in his love for the organics, so easy to outsmart by simply introducing the human factor, so revoltingly admirable.

Megatron’s teeth ground almost against his will. Prime was so protective of the human, treating it as something of a comrade, giving it a true place on his precious team. What had it done to deserve such an honor other than being at the right place at the right time? It _had_ outsmarted Megatron for at least a few days—Megatron could only assume that it was doing the same to Prime. Though littered with weaknesses, Megatron had at least assumed that his sworn enemy was more intelligent than to willingly allow a human into his ranks, to allow such a liability the freedom to run rampant around his base.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

Equally as bothersome was the medic. Ratchet. The esteemed doctor, the very reason many of the Autobots opposing Megatron were still alive, had thrown himself in front of a bullet for the monstrosity. The question had lingered in Megatron’s processors since it occurred— _why?_ Ratchet had never shown the same exemplary softness for humans as Prime had, yet he had taken the fall on its behalf multiple times. Megatron still remembered the satisfying screeching of metal as he had twisted the medic’s arm upside down.

_Why did he care for it so much?_

Megatron didn’t have a chance to entertain the many possibilities before his comm-link started pinging him. He grunted and answered the call.

“What is it?” he growled.

“Lord Megatron.” Knockout’s voice rang through his ears. “I have some exciting news for you. It’s regarding the project. See, after much trial and error, and a vast amount of speculation—”

“I suggest you skip the inevitable prattle and get to the point.”

“Yes. Right. One of the humans has taken to its… enhancements. It’s in stable condition, regaining consciousness now.”

“Were the upgrades performed to my standards?”

“But of course, my liege.”

“Don’t be so vain, Knockout. It only took you twenty tries, did it not?”

“Twenty _four_ , my lieg—ah—that was an insult, wasn’t it?”

“I’m coming to the medbay now. Have the human prepared for inspection. Summon Starscream as well. I’d like him to witness what success looks like for once.”

"As you command, my liege.”

Megatron’s whirring processor calmed significantly at the news. If Knockout had truly succeeded, it would only be a few weeks of rigorous training before the Autobot human would have to suffer the misery of fighting its own kind. It was a pain Megatron knew all too well, perhaps better than anyone.

If the human wanted so badly to be part of this war, it deserved to know exactly what every Cybertronian had suffered through.

And hopefully, like many that came before it, it wouldn’t live to tell the tale.

~

“ _Me?_ What possible reason could there be for _me_ to visit your disgusting science project? Does he not know that I’m _busy?_ ”

Starscream had ignored Knockout’s last two pings, but the third one had annoyed him so much that he decided to answer and give Knockout a piece of his mind. Which had clearly been a mistake, as he was now being bossed around by an underling.

“Lord Megatron’s orders, _Commander_ ,” Knockout said calmly over the comm-link, the honorific laced with false politeness. “Perhaps Megatron believes my _science project_ to be a military endeavour after all.”

“I doubt that,” Starscream snarled. “It’s not going to live for much longer, if your past trials are any indication.”

“Look, Screamer, I’m just relaying information,” Knockout drawled. “Get down here or get kicked across the room by Lord Megatron. Your choice. And believe me, I couldn’t care less which you choose.”

Starscream rolled his optics and cut the communication, slamming his datapad onto the desk in front of him and shoving his seat backwards with a loud _screech._ He didn’t care about this human. He didn’t care about any humans. Megatron was a fool for even deciding to undergo this project, wasting time and resources that could be utilized in a million better ways.

_But_ , Starscream supposed, _you can’t start a war without an innate ability to hold grudges, can you?_

Starscream sighed pointedly at no one in particular as he took a sluggish pace toward the medbay, unsurprised to see Megatron waiting outside with Knockout, both of them staring at him with ice in their optics. Starscream approached at a languid pace, sauntering as unamusedly as possible.

“You took your time,” Megatron growled.

“Unlike you, I had work to do, my Lord,” Starscream said airily. “Pardon my lateness.”

Megatron growled under his breath, though he seemed far too preoccupied with the medbay door to retaliate. Knockout looked plenty excited as he opened it, leading the pair inside.

Starscream immediately buckled as they entered—the medbay was thick with a sour, wet, grossly metallic stench, the usual light aroma of Knockout’s polish smothered completely by what could only be described as “rot.” 

“What _is_ that awful smell?” he asked, fanning the air in front of his nasal receptors.

“I’m workin’ on it,” Breakdown yelled from the corner. Starscream was plenty amused to see him hauling a pile of human bodies on top of a cleaning drone, surely on track for the incinerator.

“You made a mess of this medbay,” Megatron said shortly.

“All for a good cause, my liege!” Knockout said smoothly, gesturing toward a berth that appeared to only have minimal bloodstains on it. “Meet your new creation. It should be fully awake momentarily. Please don’t mind the face… it was bothering me, so I replaced it with something more appropriate.”

Starscream huffed irritably as Megatron’s optics burned with badly concealed excitement. Fantastic—Megatron had another new plaything now. Just what he needed. Starscream peered at the human, which was blearily looking between the three Decepticons currently looming over it. Knockout was right—its face was far from human, merely a flat mask of silvery metal, bandaged heavily around the seams. The human eyes under a Cybertronian face were nothing short of unsettling as it shifted its attention to its arms, both of which were cast from living metal, the motion of the fingers slow but fluid.

“Disgusting,” Starscream muttered, cringing at its motionless face.

“Wonderfully done, Knockout,” Megatron said. Knockout puffed out his chest proudly—Starscream sighed dramatically.

“Yes, Knockout, fantastic job recreating something an Autobot managed to make over one full Earth year ago,” he said snidely. “You’ve really demonstrated your skills after—what was it—twenty three tries?”

“Twenty _four_ ,” Knockout replied plainly. “And it is far better than a recreation—both arms have been fully replaced as requested, but I also took the liberty of replacing one of the legs. I, uh, would have done the other leg, but I ran out of human fluids. Human faces leak more than anticipated. My apologies, my liege.”

“You did as I asked and more,” Megatron said, suddenly turning to Starscream with a leer. “Starscream, you could stand to take a hint from Knockout.”

_So that’s why I’m here. Torment. Wonderful._ Starscream opted to stay silent for once, focusing his attention on the human, whose tiny eyes were screaming with incredible confusion without the strength to ask for answers.

“Master, what are we going to do with it?” Starscream asked curiously, leaning closer to it. It shrank back slightly, closing one tiny eye, but seemed far too delirious to be as fearful as the girl had. Starscream frowned. He preferred the Autobot girl. She had much better reactions than this one.

“ _We_ are not going to do anything,” Megatron said with a wicked smirk. “ _You_ are going to train it and unleash it into the field to kill Prime’s human.”

“If neither Knockout nor _you_ could kill the human, what makes you think a barely-trained monstrosity can, my Lord?” Starscream said flatly. 

Megatron’s optics darkened abruptly—Starscream noted this for future use. Something about the Autobot human absolutely infuriated his Master, and Starscream found it to be incredibly humourous. For a brute such as Megatron to gain such deep fury in his eyes at the mention of a flimsy human girl—it was most unbefitting of a leader, which meant it was very entertaining for Starscream.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Megatron said coldly, both optics trained on Starscream. “And I doubt you want to find out what will happen if you fail me once again.”

“Again? What have _I_ done?” Starscream whined.

Megatron and Knockout both stared at him.

“ _Recently!_ ”

“Allowing the human to escape the ship in the first place as well as letting her secure Deadlock’s Great Sword are but two that come to mind,” Megatron growled.

“It escaped because of Knockout!” Starscream shrieked. The human on the berth whimpered and moved to cover its ears. Starscream sneered at it.

“Really?” Knockout said coolly. “Because I seem to recall you forcing me to disobey our Lord’s direct orders and leave the human unattended.”

“I—” Scrap. He had a point. “I was merely trying to—”

“This isn’t the time to discuss fault,” Megatron said harshly, turning toward the human with a snarl. “You. Human. You are going to be trained and molded into an incredible assassin, and if you refuse, you will be disposed of. Do you understand?”

The human stared at him with its empty expression, emitting a strange gurgling noise. Starscream shuddered.

“Are you _sure_ it’s functional?” he asked, glancing at Knockout.

Knockout shrugged. “Probably.”

Starscream leaned closer to Knockout, narrowing his optics. “If there is anything wrong with its physical form, I expect _you_ to take the blame for its inevitable failure,” he hissed.

“I would if there _was_ anything wrong with it,” Knockout said smugly. “But unlike you, I _complete_ projects instead of ruining them.”

Starscream gritted his teeth and spun on his heel, stomping toward the exit. “Send it to Arena 4 for training when it’s coherent. Inform me when you do,” he spat. “I don’t intend to be patient with it.”

He had been assigned some miserable projects, but this one had somehow topped them all. Megatron was gazing at the human with a greedy smile, as though the faceless fleshbag was somehow an unstoppable, legendary weapon. His expression was beyond pleased, beyond excited—it was _hungry._ Almost _loving._

Starscream scoffed to himself. If Megatron loved that freak so much, why didn’t he train it himself? Starscream had far better things to be doing.

He sighed as he stalked toward his quarters, wondering just how angry Megatron would be if he “accidentally” squashed the thing. The thought amused Starscream for a while, picturing all the ways he could kill it. Megatron’s precious new weapon being shot, crushed under his pedes, squeezed until it popped, crumbled into powder. 

A few hours passed before Knockout informed him that the human was standing normally, and Starscream groaned aloud before hauling himself upright. Hopefully it was still capable of logical thought and understanding, even if not speech. Megatron would have his head if it didn’t take down the Autobot girl, likely blaming it on Starscream rather than accepting that a weapon made of organic material is destined to fail. Megatron’s grudges were certainly his most glaring weakness, constantly clouding his judgement.

Starscream sighed. If anything, maybe he could teach the human to give tongue lashings like the one the Autobot girl had delivered so long ago. Knockout had complained about her attitude throughout her entire stay on the Nemesis, which brought Starscream immeasurable joy. 

A smile jerked at his lips as he headed toward the training arena. Perhaps there _was_ a way to snuff that greedy, childish expression from Megatron’s face. It was risky plan, perhaps, but when had Starscream ever been one to turn down a stupid idea?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to relevant plot!


	10. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana has never made a good decision in her life. Apparently, neither has Starscream.

“Does the patient ever actually have lupus?”

“I think maybe once or twice. But that’s it.”

“Is it a common enough disease to warrant a diagnosis in every single episode?”

“Nope. But Cameron is an immunologist, so she suggests it, like, every five minutes.”

“I prefer House to Cameron.”

“What a surprise.”

I readjusted in Ratchet’s lap as we continued to the next episode, waiting impatiently for the video to load on one of Ratchet’s main screens. He was sitting upright, albeit crookedly as he leaned against the wall behind him, and I smiled widely at his progress. Standing and walking for more than a few steps still exhausted him, but after only two weeks he was able to sit comfortably instead of lay down. Most of the time, at least. I blamed it all partially on his ridiculous stubbornness and increasing frustration with me as his resident doctor, but the headway he had made was impressive nonetheless.

I had shown him an episode of _House_ to try and make a point about how hard he was to deal with in his incapacitated state, and unfortunately, he liked the titular character just a bit too much. “Of course you like him,” Drift had said with a snigger. “He’s _you._ ”

Nonetheless, despite all the arguing, manhandling, exasperation, and waking up in the middle of the night because Ratchet had fallen over trying to modify his own nightly energon drip, he was doing far better than anyone had anticipated. Which only made him _more_ insistent on being his own doctor.

The video’s progress was suddenly interrupted by a small _beep_ and a flashing notification on the corner of Ratchet’s screen. He frowned as he peered at it, optics narrowing.

“That’s strange,” he murmured.

I was more concerned as to why the video was taking so long to start. “Why? Isn’t it just a message from someone?”

“No,” Ratchet said, tone suddenly cold as ice. “Whoever it’s from, they didn’t send an identifier. This isn’t from one of us.”

He started to shift as though to stand, and I raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ll get it,” I said firmly, hopping from Ratchet’s lap and crawling over Drift, who had entered shutdown at Ratchet’s feet and appeared to be completely out of commission. I tiptoed past his sharp head as I strolled toward the massive screen, opening the message and transcribing it aloud for Ratchet.

“‘I have information for and regarding the human,’” I read. “‘I wish to speak with her alone.’ And a set of coordinates.”

“Any signature?” 

I pressed a few buttons, and a muddled image of the sender slowly formed. I groaned, quickly understanding why they had not brightly brightly identified themself.

“Starscream,” I muttered.

“ _Starscream?_ ” Ratchet looked both incredulous and suspicious. “What does _he_ want?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” I said uncertainly. “It looks like he sent this from a personal device, not from a Decepticon computer. Why would he do that?”

Curiosity was flooding through me, destroying all hope I had of common sense as I turned to Ratchet. “I should at least go find out what he wants, right?” I said.

“Are you an _idiot?_ ”

“Well—”

“I’m not letting you spend any more time with Decepticons than you have to, especially not _alone!_ ”

“But—”

“Absolutely not!”

The ruckus had roused Drift, who was struggling upright and rubbing his optics. “Was it lupus?” he asked groggily.

“Hana got a message from Starscream. He wants to meet with her,” Ratchet said darkly.

“Really?” Drift stretched, arching his back like an oversized cat. “Sounds cool! What does he—”

“You’re _both_ morons,” Ratchet snapped. “What possible reason could Starscream have for meeting with Hana that wouldn’t result in her death or kidnap?”

Drift and I shrugged in sync.

“We all know what Starscream’s like,” Drift said. “Maybe he wants to help us.”

“Why in _Primus’ name_ would he want to help us?”

“He did send the message from his own datapad,” I said pointedly. “So maybe it’s something he doesn’t want Megatron to see.”

Ratchet scowled. “It’s a terrible idea,” he said, ignoring me.

“But it’s been, like, a month since anyone’s had any terrible ideas!” I whined. “It’s getting boring around here!” Drift nodded in vigorous agreement. 

Ratchet rolled his optics so hard that I worried they may fall out.

“Is it possible for me to talk you imbeciles out of this?” he grumbled.

Drift and I shook our heads.

Ratchet sighed. “Drift, accompany her. She is absolutely not going alone, no matter what Starscream says.”

“Awesome!” Drift gracefully leapt from the berth, optics shimmering as he strode toward the GroundBridge controls. “If he tries anything, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind, stupid fragger—”

I tugged on my skates and rolled after him, smiling widely at Ratchet’s deadened expression.

“I don’t know how you manage to be a combination of my annoying habits and Drift’s, but I can tell you, it makes me question my own judgement sometimes,” he said, rolling his optics again for good measure. 

“Love you too,” I said brightly. “We’ll be careful. Don’t worry.”

“Stay active on the comm-link at all times. I’ll let Optimus kn—”

“Uh, Ratchet,” Drift said, cutting him off. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell Optimus about this one.”

Ratchet looked as though he wanted to throttle both of us. “And why would that be?”

“Because we’re going to hang out with a Con because he texted us?” I suggested dryly. “Plus, I was supposed to be studying with you, and we were watching _House._ ”

Ratchet glowered for a few moments.

“It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Drift said loftily. Ratchet sighed.

“If you two die, I’m hereby relinquishing myself of responsibility,” he said shortly. “Be _careful._ I don’t want to have to clean you up from the ground.”

“We will be!” Ratchet visibly cringed—he hated it when Drift and I spoke concurrently, so naturally, we did it as much as possible.

Drift drew his swords as we marched through the Groundbridge, his face hardening from its usual playful softness to something incredibly cold. I blinked at him.

“You alright?” I asked as color enveloped us.

“Everyone’s gotta have a war face, kid,” he said. “Demeanor is everything when it comes to communication, and inner balance lets you manipulate your emotions at will. I can choose to be any version of myself that I want, whenever I want.”

“Sorry, what? I got distracted thinking about sentences that actually make sense.”

Drift’s firm expression wavered into a grin for a moment. “Fair enough.”

~

A relatively large part of Starscream had been fully expecting her to come accompanied, despite his very _direct_ request, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated the defector to be her chaperone. Starscream snorted at the sight of him: swords drawn, helm lowered, optics trained on Starscream’s every movement. A proper warrior, that one was. It would have been more of a pity to lose him as a Decepticon had his absence not opened so many opportunities for Starscream.

“Deadlock, fancy seeing you here,” Starscream drawled, grinning wickedly. “I _thought_ I told the human to come _alone._ ”

Deadlock, or Drift, or whatever he went by these days, stared back at Starscream coldly. “You seem to be under the assumption that anyone in any universe has an ounce of trust in you.”

Starscream folded his arms and turned his head away—a childish, pouty pose, but one that got his point across. “I will speak to her alone or not at all.”

The human rolled her eyes, kicking her feet, spraying little chunks of dirt at the space in front of her. “And what if you decide to step on me as soon as Drift walks away?”

Did she really think he was so simple minded? “If I intended to kill you, I’d go about it in a much more clever way,” he said pointedly. 

“Gee, thanks.” She considered for a moment, looking up at Drift, whose poised demeanor softened for a moment as he shrugged. “We’re leaving the GroundBridge open. Drift will stay out of earshot but close enough to see me,” she said finally, icicles dripping from every word. “But you do realize that whatever you say is getting back to the Autobots whether you like it or not, right?”

“Of course,” Starscream said harshly, scowling down at her. She scowled right back before gesturing at the defector, who moved away, optics still locked on Starscream.

Once he had vanished, the human’s small figure turned toward his, mimicking his stance by folding her arms and jutting one hip out, donning a smirk that rivaled his own. “So? What do you want? I don’t have all day.”

He did admire the sharpness of her tongue, if nothing else. Her words were tight, controlled, and practically bled with malice and sarcasm. “I wanted to tell you of a project I’ve been assigned to work on,” he said coolly, countering her fiery demeanor with deathly calm. “I believe it may interest you.”

“Why?”

Starscream frowned at her. She was quick, wasn’t she? “Can I not impart information without an ulterior motive?” he snarled.

“Uh, no? Especially given that the first and only time we interacted directly, you threatened to impale me.” She walked closer to him, not nearly as phased by him as she had once been. She had an aura about her now, a nearly tangible field surrounding her—something powerful, something that might intimidate a weaker mech than Starscream. No more was she scrambling for words or flinging herself into idiotic situations: she donned an expression of calculation, analysis, newfound strength. This, more than anything, puzzled Starscream.

“You seem to be under the impression that you can scare me,” Starscream said, claiming some of the space between them with a few short steps. “Is it the medic’s death that has made you so jaded?”

He waited for her to falter and was instead met with a sharp laugh. He blinked in confusion.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked suspiciously.

“I totally forgot! You guys think you actually killed him!” She shook her head. “Be honest with me here, how often has that happened? You celebrate killing an Autobot just to have them turn up a few days later? Come on. Tell me.”

Starscream bristled, wings broadening and fanning intimidatingly. “The medic lives?” he asked tensely.

The human shrugged. “Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell you. But yeah. He’s fine. Sorry to disappoint.”

Starscream took a moment to pick his jaw from the ground, desperately looking for words where it lay. No such luck.

“But—but _how?_ ” he spluttered. “He got shot!”

“Yeah.”

“In the _spark!_ ”

“Uh huh.”

“I watched it burn out!”

“No.”

“But—”

“Listen.” She cut him off and Starscream’s voice immediately died in anger and shock. She dare interrupt him? He staked ownership on more of the ground beneath them, stepping forward with his wings spiked upwards. She didn’t flinch. “This is great fun and all, but you said you have information for me, and I’d like to get it.”

Starscream hissed. “For the record,” he spat, “I’m only imparting this because there is personal benefit for me if you choose to intervene. Not that you’ll have much of a choice.”

The human frowned. “Meaning?”

She was listening to him. Starscream vastly preferred speaking this way: being the leader of the conversation, not the follower. “Lord Megatron has given me a very specific project to work on,” he said, walking back and forth in front of the human, who stood very still. “You seem to have ignited some sort of burning anger within him, and he would very much like to see it extinguished by having you executed.”

He grinned at her. “Kudos,” he added.

She rolled her eyes. “Gee, I had _no idea_ Megatron hated me,” she snapped sarcastically. “Indulge me with more of your amazing insider information, please.”

Starscream scowled. She was more clever than he had given her credit for, putting herself above him, making _him_ talk because _she_ had demanded it. It was an old trick, but a frustrating one at that. Starscream debated turning the tables one more time before deciding he didn’t quite care enough to bother. His next statement would do just fine.

“My time is currently being spent training something similar to you… a human,” he said, pausing for just the right amount of dramatic effect.

_Now_ he had her full attention. Her expression pinched slightly as she stared up at him, a satisfying blend of confusion and fear. “What do you mean, _training a human?_ ” she asked slowly.

“The declaration is self-explanatory,” Starscream drawled, enjoying the fact that she had visibly stiffened despite her expression growing collected and stony once again. “With your training, you have become far too small and quick to catch, especially in battles where a majority of the fighters are of average size. You’re tipping the scales in the Autobot’s favor. Lord Megatron isn’t taking kindly to that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Starscream glanced down at her, pleased to see that her composure was weakening slightly. He continued pacing, moving imperceptibly closer to her, fully prepared to use force if she refused to agree to his terms.

“Why not?” he asked calmly.

“Because that makes no sense. First of all, I haven’t done anything that could be considered ‘tipping the scales.’ And I’m stronger than normal humans. I can’t be taken down by one. It’s not physically possible anymore.”

Her choice of the word ‘anymore’ was curious, but Starscream couldn’t convince himself to care. “Who said it was a normal human?”

The human’s eyes widened, understanding visually dawning across her face. “He’s trying to recreate me, isn’t he?”

“Not trying, no. He was successful. The brat is very capable, strong, and learning quite quickly, in fact. It may even be stronger than you, under my training.”

The human was glaring at him with fire in her eyes. “Why are you telling me this?” she said darkly.

Starscream was pleased with her anger, but her inevitable question was the one that he hadn’t quite composed an answer to yet. He had expected more of a reaction than what she was giving—anger, confusion, spluttering stupid statements about how it was “unfair” and “immoral.” His own human had done the same things before he stuck that chip in its head, and now it was mercifully quiet.

He hadn’t said anything in a few moments. Scrap. He began to scramble for something clever to say, trying to formulate a statement that would distress the human further. Unnecessary, certainly, but entertaining nonetheless.

The human took an angry step forward, and Starscream took a cowardly step back, losing track of what he had planned to say.

“Alright—fine! I’m telling you because I need you to get rid of it for me, and I want to tell you how.”

The human froze, one foot forward, her eyes directly on Starscream’s optics. Neither of them moved. She continued to stare at him for a long time, her face flickering between an entire range of emotions before settling on deep bewilderment. She shook her head as though to jostle something from inside, uttering a single confused sound.

“Huh?”

“I want it _gone_ ,” Starscream reiterated impatiently. “Lord Megatron seemed to think that by recreating you, he can shift the balance of power back in favor of the Decepticons. He’s had Knockout working on the humans for weeks, ripping off—”

“ _Humans?_ Plural?” The human looked wildly confused. “How many?”

“Twenty or so. It’s not important. They’re all dead. Anyway, I—”

“Megatron had _twenty_ humans killed? To try and recreate me?”

“Quite violently so, yes. Most of them were in a state of… disarray upon their passing. Limbs missing, suicidal, you know. And would you _stop interrupting me?_ ”

The human had taken on a new attitude: she looked distressed, almost guilty.

“He’s holding that much of a grudge?”

Starscream scoffed. “Well, it’s not like he really cared much about humans in the first place. You’re the only one that’s ever caught his interest. And that isn’t good news for you.”

“Clearly.”

The human had begun kicking at the dirt some more, avoiding Starscream’s gaze carefully. Starscream smirked until she looked back up at him, eyes narrowed, at which point he settled his expression back to indifference.

“And you want it gone… why?” The human looked suspicious now. “And why do you need me? Just… I don’t know, step on it or something.”

“Yes, because Lord Megatron would take so kindly to that,” Starscream said, voice seeping sarcasm. “I need _you_ to do it so there’s no way for _me_ to get blamed.”

“But—why? If it’s going to help your cause, why are you letting me kill it?”

Starscream sighed in exasperation. “Why should you care? If we both benefit, there’s no reason not to participate. I want the human gone. I don’t like the way Lord Megatron looks at it. I don’t like the way it gets stared at when it walks through the hallways. It’s Lord Megatron’s precious little weapon, and everything else has taken the backseat to it.”

“You’re jealous that it’s getting _attention?_ And you _aren’t?_ ” Now she sounded amused, and Starscream ground his teeth.

“ _I_ don’t believe humans should have a part in this war. This is a Cybertronian fight, not yours.”

“Yet you’re asking a human for help.”

Starscream spluttered for a second before finding something coherent to say. “Y-your sympathies lie with the Autobots. I couldn’t care less about _their_ dignity. I want Decepticon glory to belong to Decepticons, not to your kind, you... freaks of nature.”

The human lifted an eyebrow at him, biting her lip as the corners lifted into a wide smile. Starscream leaned in closer, scowling.

“What?”

“Your argument makes absolutely no sense,” she said, covering her mouth, failing to cover the obvious grin. Her Cybertronian hands glistened in the early morning sunlight, and Starscream frowned at how much better crafted they were than his own human’s. The medic had really taken care of this girl. “But if Megatron is creating something that can take me out, then fine. I’ll help you.”

Starscream ignored her. “But why are you smiling like that?”

A few giggles escaped from between her fingers. “I’ve heard about you,” she said slowly, choosing words carefully, “but I always thought everyone was just being hyperbolic.”

“ _What do you mean?_ ” 

“Nevermind,” she said, waving a hand at him and clearing her throat. “Just tell me what to do.”

Starscream eyed her, suspicion quaking his spark. “Are you sure?”

She shrugged. “I can’t even pretend to understand your logic,” she said plainly, “but if you’re going to help prevent me from _dying_ , by all means. What do you Cons say—you scratch my back, I scratch yours?”

“Your medic will be so proud,” Starscream said with a sneer. 

She shrugged noncommittally. “For looking out for myself? I’m sure he will be, yes. Desperate times, desperate measures, right?”

Starscream pondered her for a moment before straightening once again, keeping his wings fanned out, dwarfing the human’s cocky grin as much as possible. He didn’t like how calm she was about all of this. She should be enraged, furious with Megatron’s obsessive meddling, just as he was. But she was collected, or at least she appeared to be. Hopefully it was a ruse just like the one he was putting on, pretending that he wasn’t beyond relieved that she had agreed.

“The human has been implanted with a chip that allows it to follow my exact orders,” Starscream said, optics locked on the girl. “Its training has taught her to attack you at all costs, but I can tell it to stop when need be. When the time comes for you to fight, at some point, I will allow it to falter and leave an opening for you to destroy it.”

She looked slightly uncomfortable but nodded. “Got it.”

“Does that worry you, human? Taking a life?” Starscream sneered.

She paused for a moment before shrugging. “Either they die or I die, right?”

“Precisely. And I _will_ let it kill you if you don’t take initiative, rest assured.”

She sighed, tugging at her fingers, the joints popping quietly. “Alright then.”

Starscream stared at the human for a few moments, letting a smile slide over his face, uncomfortable with how contrived it felt. “Is the poor human afraid?” he teased, injecting as much empty malice into his words as possible. “Have you ever killed before?”

She threw a nasty stare at Starscream, and he frowned at the sight. Autobots were all weak like this, squeamish when it came to something as meager as murder. He despised that about them.

“I hate Megatron,” she said, catching Starscream completely off guard. “I didn’t want any of this.”

Starscream blinked a few times, staring down at her. She looked caught somewhere between enraged and distressed, an expression Starscream found himself wearing on a relatively regular basis. His mocking faltered for a moment, and he leaned closer to her.

“I hate him, too,” he said earnestly. She looked upwards, one eyebrow raised. “And if you kill this human for me, it’ll make him furious. And—”

“And give him another reason to hate me?” the human snapped. 

Starscream fanned his wings irritably. “Listen, human—”

“I have a name, jackass,” she snarled. “It’s Hana.”

Starscream narrowed his optics. “Alright then, _Hana._ Listen carefully. You can’t get revenge on Lord Megatron the way you want to. Pacifism doesn’t penetrate his thick skull. There is no amount of sunshine you can throw at him that will ever make him change his mind. If you defy him, you will be punished, and he won’t be stopped. So you have two choices: grow a back strut and kill this human, or be taken down just like your medic was. That I can assure you.”

The human—Hana—glared up at him, looking oddly terrified. Fickle, this one was. Starscream sighed.

“And why do _you_ hate him so much?” she asked coldly. “You say all of this, but your head is shoved up his ass all the time. How can I trust you?”

“Simple,” Starscream said snidely. “You can’t. Not fully, anyway.”

“Thanks for that.”

“You and I both want revenge. A temporary alliance will give us both what we want. I won’t betray you until the deed is done. You don’t have to trust _me_ , but you can choose to trust that statement. Take it or leave it.”

Hana pondered for a moment, hands rotating nervously over each other.

“Fine,” she said, meeting his optics bravely. “Only because I have no other choice.”

“How noble of you,” Starscream grumbled. “Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

“No promises.” She turned on her heel to walk back toward the defector. “I’m an engineer, not a fighter. I don’t even know how I got in this fucking mess.”

Starscream gritted his teeth as she walked away. Her statement hung heavy on his processors. She was simple, saying what she meant, not bothering to censor herself, falsifying truths but never truly lying. She was genuinely frustrated, and she wasn’t afraid to show it even to her enemy. She wasn’t made to be manipulative or cunning or sarcastic or any of the things Starscream liked about her—she was _forced_ to be merely to survive. Her snideness was all fabricated.

Everything about who she was had been evident from the first day she showed up on the Nemesis, and Starscream suddenly felt like a fool for not realizing it. She hadn’t lied to Megatron because she wanted to deceive him, or to try and get the upper hand on him. She was just trying to be free. Even now, she had spent the entire conversation deciding what to say next, silently judging whether Starscream was trustworthy or not. He wondered vaguely how he had been considered as such. _No one_ trusted him.

She was talented with her words, certainly, but craftiness to such an extent wasn’t something that anyone can gain in a few measly months. Understanding every inflection, noting every change in tone, focusing on _his_ word choice and using them in _her_ favor—she had been doing this for a lifetime. 

It felt all too familiar. Starscream _hated_ how familiar it was. Anger coiled in his tanks, churning and writhing like bad engex through his systems. A lifetime of forced deception, and for what? What was she truly after? 

What was _he_ truly after?

“Hana.”

She turned, looking annoyed.

“I thought you were done talking for once,” she said icily.

A grin tugged at his lips for a moment. “You and I have more in common than I’d like to admit.”

“Don’t insult me.”

Starscream wanted to be more angry at her, but found himself strangely sympathetic instead. It was an unnatural emotion for him, and he didn’t like it. Words bubbled from between his lips before he could stop them.

“It wasn’t an insult. You have fight in you and I know you don’t have it by choice. And I won’t ask how or why you have it. But treat it as a gift. Don’t give it away to anyone, or you’ll end up at their feet doing their bidding for the rest of your life.”

Her expression was unbearable—confusion and comprehension somehow blended into a coherent, unspoken understanding. She looked as though she yearned to hear more, and the concept alone made Starscream swing away from her. He had already said too much.

“Wait,” she said, moving as though to step toward him. “What do you—”

Starscream ignored her and leapt upwards, rocketing into the sky in one coordinated motion, desperate to get away from his own words.


	11. Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron is the only one with any shred of sanity.

Ratchet was extremely grateful to see Hana and Drift return unharmed, moving to stand only seconds before Hana shot him a warning glance. He sighed and put his head back. This was getting to be downright humiliating. He was at least capable of sitting up and greeting them.

“What did he want?” Ratchet watched as Hana jumped onto his chest, concern prodding at his processors when he saw her expression. She looked torn and confused, the usual fire in her eyes replaced with something much more unsettled.

“You wouldn’t _believe_ the conversation I just had,” she said slowly.

Drift took a seat next to them as she began to recount the events with strangely empty eyes. By the end of the story, Drift and Ratchet looked equally horrified.

“Well, this confirms it even more. Megatron’s insane,” Drift said simply. Ratchet nodded in agreement.

“You look upset, Hana,” Ratchet noted, and she glanced at him, expression clearing slightly but not quite enough. He knew her all too well—she was hiding something. Her newfound EM field was prodding nervously at his, as though shyly asking to be questioned.

“I’m not upset. It just freaks me out that Megatron is _this_ angry at me. All I’ve done is steal his stuff a few times.” She shrugged noncommittally, averting her gaze. “And… what Starscream said, that’s bothering me. I feel like he was talking less to me and more to himself.”

“Starscream is a traitorous snake,” Drift said, leaning back on his elbows. “Don’t take him seriously.”

“Yeah.” Hana appeared to be in agreement, but Ratchet knew that slump in her shoulders, the way her eyes were shifting back and forth as she tried to find some excuse to change the subject.

“He’s trying to get in your head, Hana,” Ratchet said tightly. “Don’t let him.”

“Yeah,” she said again. “I won’t.”

She had always prided herself on being a good liar, but unfortunately for her, Ratchet had become accustomed to all of her tics. And she was terrible at controlling her EM field—it had been pulsing anxiously, nauseatingly, and she had no idea how to reel it in yet. Ratchet placed a servo on her, and a throb of relief vibrated through her field.

“Starscream’s job is to betray. It always has been.” Ratchet tried to meet her gaze, but she was avoiding it quite obviously. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just feel bad for him. Maybe there’s more to him than we know. He seemed to _get_ things about me. Understand them.”

“Even if that’s true,” Drift said, “he’s still tried to kill all of us a ton of times. Pity will get us all in trouble.”

Hana shrugged, finally looking sincere, though her field was still tight and heavy. “You’re right. Yeah. Doesn’t matter.”

She perked up slightly, looking at Ratchet with half of a genuine smile. “Now, you. Ready to try and walk again?”

Ratchet groaned, deciding it was best to stop pressing her so much. The last thing he wanted was to upset her even further. “If it gets you all to stop hounding me about sitting still, then yes, gladly.”

Hana grinned, wiggling out from under his servo and taking her place on the floor, hands on her hips. She tried so hard to look authoritative in situations like these, but for Primus’ sake, it was nearly impossible not to grin at her.

“On your feet, soldier!” she snapped, saluting cheesily.

“I can do without the theatrics, thank you,” Ratchet grumbled, slowly rotating his feet toward the ground.

~

“Lord Megatron. I have something to show you.”

Megatron sighed internally at hearing the icy glee in Starscream’s voice and answered without turning away from the screen he was studying. “What is it, Starscream?”

“Your precious human is ready for deployment, my Lord.”

Megatron turned his helm just slightly to see Starscream wearing an alarmingly wide smirk, the human Knockout had created standing next to him. Upon meeting his gaze, the human ducked into a low bow, dark hair falling over its shoulders.

“I am pleased to finally meet you, Lord Megatron,” the human said. Its voice was female, strangely monotonous, a welcome change from Starscream’s screech. “I live to serve you.”

She stood upright and posed stiffly, looking to Starscream as though for further guidance. Starscream giggled.

“Isn’t she wonderful?” he cooed. “I embedded a scrambling chip in her head to shut down all of her thought processes. She listens to her programming, my instruction, and nothing else.”

“A welcome change compared to others on this ship.” Megatron raised his canon and fired a shot at the human, providing it no warning whatsoever. She dodged deftly, flipping backwards and pausing for barely a moment before once again assuming her rigid stance. Starscream yelped and ducked, covering his helm.

“Excellent work, Starscream,” Megatron said coolly, amusedly watching as Starscream emerged from his panicked cower. “It will be utilized at the next available opportunity. I trust it has been sufficiently trained for close combat, as ordered?”

“O-of course, my Lord,” Starscream said shakily as he returned to his full height. “I’m certain that her mission will be successful.”

“Excellent. Provide it with sufficient weaponry and standby for further orders.”

Megatron turned back to his screen and promptly opened a map, suddenly eager to see Autobot life signals. Starscream had actually accomplished an assign task to par. Megatron felt as though he should be suspicious, but he was far too preoccupied thinking about how glorious it would be for his creation to slice the head from the Autobot girl’s body. The Prime would be devastated at the loss of a human life. Perhaps even angry, angry enough to attack Megatron properly for once, to truly fight with everything he had. The whole scenario had nothing but wonderful implications. 

His fantasies were interrupted by Starscream’s voice. “Shall I inform Knockout?”

“Do whatever you want so long as it isn’t near me.”

Starscream sniffed haughtily, and Megatron heard his feet shuffle as he turned. “Anything you command, my Lord.”

Megatron narrowed his optics and swung around, suspicion coming to the forefront of his thoughts, pushing the Prime aside. Starscream was being far too agreeable, and if Megatron knew but one thing, it was that Starscream’s cooperation was a reason for heavy concern. 

“And what do you mean by that?” Megatron asked sharply. His words fell on an empty room.

Starscream was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update with idiots being idiots as usual!


	12. Conflicts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear. Hana, please, for once if your life, stop being an idiot.

I clasped my hands excitedly under my chin, practically bouncing on my heels as Ratchet shakily ducked down, lifted me from the floor, and placed me on his shoulder. He took a brief moment to breathe before slowly straightening, and once he was fully upright, I threw my arms around his helm and squeezed as hard as I could. He winced.

“Look at you!” I said happily, squishing my face against his. “Walking all the way across the room _and_ picking me up!”

“A minor accomplishment at best,” Ratchet grumbled, his small grin betraying his false annoyance. 

“You were dead, like, a month ago. I think it’s a huge accomplishment given the circumstances.” I kissed his cheek briefly, grinning smugly as his faceplates warmed. “How are you feeling? Weak? Tired?”

“Not _terribly_ ,” Ratchet said thoughtfully, taking a few slow steps forward, each one steadier than the last. “I’m certainly not at my full strength, though.”

“Well, you can go ahead and downplay your success, but I’m still proud of you,” I said with a grin. 

“You’re biased.”

I grinned. He wasn’t entirely incorrect, but his progress had been impressive considering he’d started trying to walk far sooner than he should have and promptly short-circuited a whole series of systems in his earliest attempts. I had yelled at him, he had yelled at me, and eventually we settled in an unspoken, mutually irritated agreement that he was allowed to try to walk, but he had to stop if he felt fuses being blown.

And though difficult, after multiple weeks of stress and arguments and constant repairs, Ratchet had finally gotten his strength back. Most of it, at least. Difficult things like consistent running and jumping were still a struggle, and I was genuinely proud of him. But even with all his spiteful insistence to be up and moving again, he was frustratingly bleak and flatly refused all compliments I tried to give regarding his success.

Fortunately, he was just as responsive to passive-aggressiveness as I was.

“Then I guess my plan to take you out of the base for a little bit will have to wait,” I said airily, lounging back against his shoulder and sighing dramatically.

Ratchet’s optics swung toward me. “You think that’d be okay?”

I held up a hand, faking a stunned expression. “Are you actually asking _me_ for medical advice for once instead of yelling at me for doing things wrong?”

His faceplates twitched. “You caught me off guard,” he said pointedly. “I know more than you.”

“Mhm. You’re never living that down, just so you know.”

“Fantastic.”

“So? What do you say, pumpkin head?”

Ratchet pondered for a moment, glancing down at his legs, which were holding wonderfully steady. For weeks, every movement had made them tremble, hydraulics hissing and bolts groaning in protest. He looked back to me and my badly-disguised eager expression before nodding.

“Not for long,” he said. “I don’t want to make anything worse.”

“It’ll be alright,” I said reassuringly. Truthfully, I was itching to get out of base even more than he was—ever since my conversation with Starscream, Optimus had been firm in his statement that I was not to go outside (even if accompanied) for extended periods of time. Ratchet had stubbornly decided to start his rehabilitation immediately after I was banned from excursions, quite obviously worried about my protection and blatantly ignoring the fact that he wasn’t nearly strong enough to start yet.

These damn bots took far better care of me than I deserved.

I returned my attention to Ratchet as he walked toward the GroundBridge controls, selecting a set of coordinates with a mischievous smirk. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“What are you smiling about?” I asked suspiciously.

“I know where I want to go,” he replied plainly as the GroundBridge whirled to life behind us. “I’ve had it in mind for a while.”

“Give me a hint,” I said eagerly. Ratchet shook his helm firmly and made his way toward the tangle of color. “Please?”

“We’re going to be there in a few seconds.”

“ _Please?_ ”

Ratchet ignored me, pinging Drift to let him know we were leaving. The warm tan of the silo morphed into the colorful blur of the inside of the GroundBridge, and as soon as it faded completely, Ratchet and I were both immediately pelted by fat, heavy raindrops. 

The sky twisted with thick rain clouds, blocking out nearly all of the light from the moon. Within seconds, I was soaked straight down to my skin, the raindrops hefty enough to emit a loud plop each time they landed. Ratchet’s armor was reminiscent of a xylophone, every splash resonating musically as the drops collided with metal.

I shielded my eyes, watching with a giggle as Ratchet frowned.

“Well, that’s not ideal,” he muttered.

“Didn’t bother to check the weather, did you, smart guy?” I said snidely. In the looming nighttime darkness, the roll of Ratchet’s bright blue optics was blinding. Thunder growled above us, followed shortly by a stunning flash of lightning that cracked the sky in half. Ratchet twitched.

“We should probably turn back,” he said, looking more disappointed than I would have expected. “I don’t want to get struck by lightning. I just had all my circuits rewired.”

“It’ll be fine!” I insisted, pushing on his helm to urge him forward. “Where are we, anyway?”

Ratchet didn’t answer, but my question was quickly answered as we moved over a small hill, revealing a long stretch of open water, thinly bordered by pebbles. The water was rushing thickly in the rain, splashing with heavy tides that made the rocks on the shore tremble. 

“It was _supposed_ to be a great place to see the stars,” Ratchet said bitterly. “But it seems the weather had a different idea.”

I watched the surface of the lake prickle as raindrops descended rapidly upon it.

“Get in,” I said excitedly. Ratchet shot me a puzzled look.

“Are you _trying_ to get me electrocuted?”

“The storm is way back there,” I said, gesturing aimlessly behind us with no real foundation for the guess. “And trust me, you’re far too awful of a patient for me to _want_ to play doctor again.”

Ratchet’s optics must have been getting tired from all the rolling, but he persisted nonetheless. He walked toward the shore, holding a servo above me like an umbrella despite the fact that I was already drenched. Pebbles crunched beneath his feet as he waded into the water, disrupting the steady waves with his massive footfalls. I pushed my soaked hair out of my eyes and looked downwards, admiring the tiny rings that emanated from every raindrop. 

“See?” I said cheerfully, pointing at the surface. “Not quite stars, but we can use our imaginations.”

Ratchet’s faceplates twisted into a small smile that he was clearly trying to hide.

“You’re very strange,” he said, scooping up a small handful of water and throwing it toward me. I yelped and hauled his other hand down, trying and failing to protect myself.

“I’m just making do with what I have,” I said defensively, peeking between his fingers. “Look down again. Your biolights make the water shine. Looks even more like stars when you do.”

Ratchet smiled thinly and cast his gaze downward. The water shimmered blue and yellow, each droplet of rain highlighted, glittering and twisting into a collage of color. I leaned forward, clutching Ratchet’s helm tightly in a feeble attempt to get closer.

“Are you fascinated by _everything?_ ” Ratchet asked. I laughed, sticking my Cybertronian arm out, trying to encourage my own biolights to brighten the surface. The two thin strips of blue contributed nothing whatsoever, but the sentiment made me smile to myself.

“Yes,” I said. “But I’m mostly just glad to see you standing again.”

I crawled down Ratchet’s chest, leaping forward into a giant servo that caught me automatically. I flopped down, laying on my stomach, reaching toward the water, wanting to touch it. Ratchet chuckled and lowered me, keeping me just within reach of the surface. I skimmed my fingertips through the water, disrupting the glistening display of color and watching it reform, ignoring the chilled raindrops that were plopping against my back.

“All thanks to you,” Ratchet said, catching me off guard. I cast my gaze toward him, smiling in spite of myself.

“You? Thanking me? I never thought I’d see the day,” I laughed.

“You deserve it,” he said, ignoring my sarcasm. “I’d be dead if not for you.”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t let you die,” I said lamely. “Not after everything you did for me.”

“So you only helped me to get even?” he said snidely.

“Hell no. But if that was the case, you’d be in _my_ debt now. Lucky for you, I accept almost all forms of payment, not just bodily injury. I’d rather not lose another limb just so we can get even.”

“Is this an acceptable payment?” Without warning Ratchet’s servo swept me upwards and pressed my lips against his. Surprised, I grabbed onto his faceplates, holding him in place for a few long moments.

He pulled back, expression unreadable. I felt my whole body soften.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen that face,” I said, grinning. He blinked.

“What face?”

“That one.” I feigned drawing a large circle around him. “The one you get every time you want to kiss me.”

Ratchet frowned. “Am I that obvious?”

“Since day one, you giant loser.” I stretched my hands toward him, latching onto his face and pulling him in once again. I felt him smile into the kiss.

“Oh, well, isn’t that just _precious._ ”

We ripped apart so quickly that Ratchet nearly flung me into the water, and I had to scramble to hold onto his fingers. He whirled around, an aptly time flash of lightning illuminating four figures standing at the shore, water lapping at their feet. One was significantly smaller than the rest, sending a jolt of electric panic sizzling across my skin.

“Scrap,” Ratchet hissed.

“Any chance you can swim?” I said tensely, leaping onto his shoulder and bracing myself.

“Doubt it.”

“Any chance you can fight?”

“Even less so.”

I gritted my teeth and brought my comm-link to my face. “Hey, anyone? We need a little help at our coordinates, like, now.”

The reply came in the form of flat static. I looked to Ratchet, alarmed, my heart rate noticeably spiking. He directed his attention toward our aggressors, retreating ever so slightly deeper into the water, clearly stalling for time as I poked my comm-link, hoping it wasn’t waterlogged. I felt his EM field prodding anxiously at me, trying to say something, but my brain was too thickly muddled with stress to listen.

Starscream was among them, and it didn’t take a genius to deduce that he was standing next to his human.

“So you brought a signal scrambler with you,” Ratchet called angrily. “Clever.”

Starscream and Breakdown both opted to take menacing strides into the water toward us, but Knockout stayed carefully away from its reach. The smaller figure didn’t move an inch, remaining disturbingly still even as a large wave sprayed it with dark water.

“More clever than you two, canoodling out alone in the middle of the night,” Knockout spat. It was nearly impossible to discern anything more than an outline from this distance, darkness and rain casting a haze over the Decepticons, but I could still make out the extent to which his crimson optics were narrowed.

“Don’t waste your breath mocking them,” Starscream spat coldly at Knockout. “We have orders, you know.” 

Starscream’s gaze was locked on mine. I swallowed hard.

“Didn’t Lord Megatron take you out, medic?” Breakdown asked. “We were all pretty surprised to see your signal show up.”

“We certainly were,” Starscream reiterated pointedly. My breath caught in my throat, panic ripping through me, shoving away the comfort that Ratchet was trying to exert. Starscream hadn’t mentioned our conversation to the other Decepticons. He was holding up his end of the deal.

Which mean that if that really was a human on the beach, I was going to have to kill it.

“Take the medic alive,” Starscream ordered Breakdown. “He’ll be weak and ripe for questioning. I’ll take care of the human.”

“Starscream—” Knockout had begun to protest, and Starscream broke our shared gaze to spin toward him.

“This project is no longer in your hands!” he snarled. “Take the medic!”

He turned back toward Ratchet and lunged, shoving Ratchet backwards and snatching me out of the air. Ratchet grunted in pain and collapsed, water erupting around him. Breakdown continued his pursuit as Starscream carried me back to shore.

“We have a deal,” he said shortly, barely audible over the pouring rain. “Don’t forget that.”

“Hurting Ratchet was not part of the deal!” I snapped.

“Stop panicking. It’s unbecoming of you,” he retorted sharply. 

“I won’t help you if you capture him!”

“We already made an agreement!” Starscream hissed. “You can’t change it now!”

“Then I’ll let your stupid human beat me senseless and Megatron will keep it around forever.”

Starscream bristled. “You can’t _do_ that!” he whined brattily. “You’ll die!”

“So be it!”

Starscream ground his teeth.

“You can call for backup _after_ you kill the human,” he said, his tone implying that this was a perfectly reasonable compromise. I scowled.

“I—”

“I’ll take that as acceptance. Oops. You slipped.”

Starscream dropped me to the ground, and I barely had a chance to catch my breath before I felt something heavy leap on top of me, cold hands yanking me roughly from the ground and delivering a hard strike across my face. I cried out and spun backwards, catching myself and just barely managing to dodge another well-aimed attack. I wiped rain from my eyes, recoiling at the sight of what I was fighting.

The long hair and slim build indicated it was female, but ‘human’ was a bit of stretch in terms of classification. Her arms jutted out at strange angles, one leg significantly thicker than the other, bulky and sharp along the edges. A flash of lightning immediately revealed that she had glistening Cybertronian limbs just like mine, more haphazardly created but just as deadly. Her arms were metal all the way to the shoulders, her entire leg replaced to the hip, metal poking out from under a pair of unremarkable shorts. I gasped when I looked into her face—or lack thereof. Her eyes were invisible, shadowed by a thick plate of silver coating, the only discernible features being a set of sharp cheekbones and small slits to allow her to see.

“What the _fuck?_ ” I shrieked aloud, shuffling backwards in a panic as she brought her foot toward me, pebbles exploding from the site where it landed.

“Well, don’t just run away!” Starscream huffed. “Fight her!”

I realized with a stab of fear that I was not only unarmed, but that all of my training had been centered around fighting aggressors significantly larger than myself. My mind went blank as I attempted to focus, catching her arm as she punched and hurling her over my shoulder.

_This should be easier than normal fights_ , I told myself firmly. _Just apply what you know and apply it smaller._

She snapped upright terrifyingly quickly, drawing a pistol from her hip and aiming it at me. I yelped and ducked as she fired once, twice, three times, throwing my leg outwards and sending her down, looking around desperately for any sort of weapon. A simple piece of driftwood would be a welcome benefit at this rate.

Drift. I tried my comm-link again, hoping Starscream had been stupid enough to turn off the scrambler. No dice.

I hesitated within my own thoughts for just a moment too long, receiving another blow across the face. Blood spurted from my mouth but I managed to stand my ground, leaping toward the outstretched gun and kicking it to the ground, using my attacker’s momentary falter to drive my fist into her metal face.

She barely grunted as I hit her, and before she could spring upright once again, I threw myself on top of her and slammed my foot onto her wrist, twisting it hard. Cold fear and dedication rushed through me as I dropped my knees to her chest, knocking whatever breath was inside her lungs into the air around us.

I had to kill her. I _had_ to. She would kill _me_ if I didn’t.

I forced my brain to stop being squeamish—I had killed Vehicons and Eradicons before. Whether my aggressor was human or not, my life was on the line. I shut down every part of my body that tried to stop me as I threw a fist against her face, scowling as metal screeched against metal and opting to instead wrap a fist around her neck and squeeze.

She writhed beneath me, clawing at my clenched fingers as I throttled her. I glanced at Starscream, who was watching amusedly with his arms folded over his glimmering cockpit.

I looked back down, shifting my grip just slightly to tighten my fingers even more. Confusion suddenly jabbed through my determination. The biolights emanating from my arms were faint, but angled just enough that I could see the outlines of her eyes. Something was strangely familiar about them.

I shook the thought away for barely a second before lightning flashed, bringing her eyes into full view. Frowning, I leaned closer to her, peering, twisting my arm harder so my the light shone fully across her featureless face. All I could see was her eyes, pressed deep blow the mask of metal, and the sight made my hands unclench. I staggered backwards as my heart began to pound.

Her eyes were emptier than I had ever seen them, controlled entirely by Starscream’s will and emotionless programming, but I would recognize those eyes anywhere. I saw them every day.

They were my eyes.

Realization overloaded my brain, wiping out any chance of coherent thought, only one word managing to slip from between my lips.

“M-Mom?”

She stood, seemingly unfazed by the fact that I had just identified her by crushing her windpipe, and she launched herself at me once again. I fell back to avoid her, kicking through the wet rocks, trying desperately to get away.

“What are you doing?” Starscream snapped from somewhere above me.

I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to realize it. Her build was exactly the same as I remembered, disturbingly similar to mine, her wet hair the same shade as mine, her eyes the same shape and color as mine. Every feature she had was mine. I didn’t even want to know how she had ended up here, and every burn of contempt I had for her was urging me to attack, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. 

“Mom—your face—Mom!”

I heard heavy footsteps approach me, and a large red foot kicked me in her direction, and she lazily stuck out a fist that sank directly into my stomach. I wheezed and collapsed, dizzily registering the laughter from above me.

“I _thought_ she looked like you,” Knockout was saying snidely. “What a lovely coincidence.”

My mother slammed her iron foot against my back, pinning me to the ground. I couldn’t bring myself to struggle. Her other foot kicked into my face, nearly dislocating my jaw.

“What are you _doing_ , Hana?” Starscream sounded livid. 

“She’s getting pounded into scrap by her own mother,” Knockout said with far too much glee in his voice.

“Her _what?_ ”

“My mistake. Did I not mention how similar they looked before I tore her face off?”

_He did what?_

It took great effort to register the strange tone in Starscream’s voice: “How was I supposed to know that? All humans look alike anyway!” He sounded almost as panicked as I felt.

I attempted to push myself upright and was sent down immediately with another kick to the jaw. A tooth wobbled loose, and I spat it out.

“Put up a good fight, Hana!” Starscream shrieked, obviously shouting to diminish the peculiar, trembling edge that laced his words. “Make this interesting for us!”

“After everything you’ve done, you’re being taken down by a human,” Knockout taunted. “Not so tough after all, are you?”

“Would you shut _up?_ ” Starscream sounded far more screechy than normal.

“What’s your problem, Screamer?”

“Frag off!”

I heard heavy footsteps approach just moments before my mother was sent flying off my back, and I coughed hard a few times before pushing myself upright. Ratchet was looming over me with Breakdown not far behind, breathing heavily and leaking dark water from under his armor.

“We have to go,” Ratchet said shortly.

“Ratchet,” I gasped. “That’s—she’s—”

I didn’t get a chance to finish; Ratchet was ripped away as Breakdown pounced on top of him, nearly crushing me had I not rolled out of the way at the last second. Starscream leapt over them and plucked me from the ground as Knockout diverted his attention toward taking Ratchet down.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Kill her before it becomes too obvious that I’m helping you!”

“Helping me _how?_ ” I snarled, spitting blood onto the ground.

“I keep leaving openings and you aren’t taking them!”

“You ass! I can’t—Starscream, she’s my—”

“I-I don’t care who she is! We had a deal! You _have_ to!”

“I can’t kill my own _mother!_ ”

“ _Why not?_ ”

“I don’t want to! Get someone else to do it!”

“As if the Prime would ever allow a human casualty! There’s a reason I don’t want him here, you know! He won’t condone it from anyone, even less from _you!_ ”

“I want to be better than she was!”

Starscream looked bewildered. “What?”

“She—she treated me horribly—I can’t kill her!”

“...What? If she was horrible, isn’t that a _good_ motive?”

“I don’t want to sink to her level! Not like _this!_ ”

“You Autobots,” Starscream grumbled. “Pathetic. Shouldn’t you want those who mistreated you dead?”

I remained silent.

Starscream sighed, optics locking on me with a strange expression. Was it pity? 

“Listen, Hana—” He was cut short as my mother appeared out of nowhere, grabbing my neck and flipping me onto my back. My scream was cut short as I slammed into the ground, spots floating in front of my eyes.

I managed to refocus my vision as the barrel of a gun was placed directly between my eyes. Starscream grimaced as my mother’s finger tightened, and I saw her falter just slightly.

“Hana, now!” he snapped.

I stared upwards into the gun, frozen in place.

“ _Hana!_ ”

Ratchet’s voice filled my ears, and before I could even register what was happening, my mother was kicked from atop me, and a large white foot descended sharply over her.

It sounded like a massive beetle getting stepped on—my ears rang with the sound of a revoltingly loud _crunch_ followed by a sloppy, meaty _squish._ I screamed as blood exploded everywhere, chunks of violent red spewing across the pebbles around me and clinging to my clothes. Hot liquid coated my face, highlighting the cold splash of every raindrop.

I wiped my eyes, tasting salt and pennies between my lips as I looked upwards into two equally dumbfounded expressions: one on Starscream’s face, and the other on Ratchet’s. Ratchet slowly lifted his foot, long ribbons of gore arcing from the ground, large clumps of white and grey and silver splattering wetly onto the shore. The smell alone nearly made me vomit.

Ratchet met my gaze, horror dawning across his features. I stared back, open-mouthed.

“Well,” Starscream said weakly, quite clearly revolted at the sight, barely capable of looking in its direction. “That takes care of that.” I barely noticed as he pressed against something on his arm, the pinging of notifications in my comm-link sputtering to life as the Autobots asked desperately where we had gone.

I was far too busy staring at Ratchet, torn between anger and indescribable relief. Maybe the latter made me a terrible person, but I was struggling to force myself to care.

“Ratchet,” I started. “That—that was—”

“I’m sending my coordinates now,” Ratchet interrupted, likely unable to hear my feeble voice as he spoke frantically into his comm-link. “Please don’t be upset with me, Optimus—it was an accident!”

“Ratchet,” I tried again. He looked down at me.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his expression indicating that he wanted to scrape the remains from his foot but knew it would likely traumatize me. “I just got scared—it was about to shoot you—!”

“Not _it_ ,” I said dumbly. “She—”

I was interrupted again as a GroundBridge spun to life a few meters away. Ratchet glanced at it nervously, watching as Drift, Optimus, and Arcee all leapt through, blasters ablaze with charge. My head was spinning confusedly as they charged in our direction. I vaguely registered Knockout shouting for reinforcements, and another GroundBridge shining light across everyone’s shadowed faces. Drift noticed me immediately and hurled the CX-183 in my direction. I idly watched it take a graceful arc and clatter to the ground, coming to rest on what had to be a piece of skull.

I looked up at Starscream, at a loss for words. He took a moment to meet my gaze as his thrusters warmed and glowed.

For someone who spoke so frequently and so loudly, Starscream’s voice was low and tense. “Strange feeling, isn’t it? Getting what you want at someone else’s expense? If I were you, I’d focus on the positives. Part of you is glad, right?”

He caught me off guard by winking, his voice still quiet but the usual brattiness obvious once again. “Thanks for your help.”

In a flash of color, he had joined his comrades in battle and was out of sight.

“Hana, I’m sorry.” Ratchet was still trying to get my attention and had begun prodding gently at my bloodsoaked body. “Hana?”

I stared at him stupidly, trying to sort through my emotions and coming up blank. Was I happy? Upset? Relieved? “That was my mom,” I said thickly.

“Your—you—what?”

“You should go rinse your foot off before you get stains,” I continued. My tone came out flat, oddly emotionless considering I was so vastly overwhelmed that I feared my brain might pop.

“Wait—that—”

“Her _mother_ , you numbskull!” Knockout appeared behind Ratchet and emphasized his last syllable with a sharp blow to Ratchet’s back. I felt air leave his systems and blast out of his vents as he toppled forward. I felt blood surge to my head, my eyes narrowing and fists tightening into fists.

Ah. Angry. I was angry.

Maybe I wasn’t sure _why_ , per se, but I knew that I wanted my fist in Knockout’s face, and I wanted it there _now._

I snapped upright, snatching my gun from the ground and securing it to my back. Empowered with its weight against me and the liquid fire shooting through my veins, I leapt toward Knockout, swinging across his outstretched arm and landing hard on the back of his neck, placing both feet against it as hard as I could. This was probably a very stupid idea, but boiling rage filled me up so completely that all I could see was red.

“Hey!” Knockout yelled sharply, swatting at me like a fly. “It wasn’t _my_ idea! It was Megatron’s plan!”

“ _You ripped her face off!_ ” I shrieked, dodging one of his sharp fingers and grabbing a cluster of wires underneath some plating on his neck. These looked important. I tested my theory with a hard yank, and Knockout spat static from his vocalizer for a moment before words returned.

“ _Ksszzht_ —stop that!”

I yanked harder. Knockout’s helm jerked backwards as he attempted to lessen the pressure on his wiring, managing to slap me hard enough that my face slammed against the back of his head. Blood sprayed from my nose, mixing with what was already there.

“ _Why?_ ” I snapped, flinging myself over Knockout’s helm and tugging hard at one of the many spikes.

“I _told_ you— _kzzht_ —Megatron—”

“Not that, asshole!” I jumped onto his chest, sending him down as I connected my fist and his nose. “Her _face!_ ”

“D-decoration!” Knockout was a horrible liar. He was still disoriented from the hit in the face, and I grabbed onto one of his optics, sinking my fingers past wiring and plating, wrapping my fingers around the searing orb of glass and metal. Knockout screeched in agony.

“Tell me now or lose it!”

“ _Kzzhhhtt—_ ”

Without removing my hand from his optic, I clumsily drew my gun and dropped the tip against his forehead, tightening my finger on the trigger. Knockout’s optics widened as my blood boiled, thinking of every attack he had launched at me, every annoying hour I had spent listening to ramble about his stupid street racing adventures, every vocal barb he had thrown at me for seemingly no reason. I wondered if he’d enjoyed prying my mother’s face from her body—the face that I shared with her.

I charged the blaster with one tug of the trigger, and my skin suddenly began to prickle. I frowned. Guns didn’t do that, did they?

In a massive burst that nearly knocked me backwards, I felt a surge of electricity arc through the air, peppered with emotions and words that I was certain I wasn’t supposed to be feeling. Fear, love, apologies, pleading, and most obvious of all—regret. I peered at Knockout, who was no longer looking at me, instead focusing his intentions somewhere far away. It only took a few moments to follow his gaze across the battlefield, where my eyes landed on Breakdown. He had frozen in place and was staring at us, looking terrified.

I was puzzled for a few moments, picking through Knockout’s EM field curiously as I looked at Breakdown, who appeared to be far too panicked to even move, his face stiff, optics wide. Arcee was charging toward him and he didn’t seem to notice at all.

His expression was familiar, and the fact that barely took a millisecond for me to place it made me feel sick. I was seeing far too much of myself in the Decepticons recently, and the turned my stomach upside down.

Were they like me, or was I becoming like them?

_Depends on what you do now_ , a nagging voice in the back of my head said snidely.

I pressed my lips together as I shifted my gun to the side and discharged it just above Knockout’s shoulder. He winced as wet dirt and pebbles clattered against his precious finish, his optics shuttering instinctively, the lids pinching around my wrist. It took him a few moments to realize that I hadn’t shot him, and his optics reopened as he glared feebly at me.

“Too afraid to— _kkszht_ —responsible for another death today, Autobot?” he snarled.

“Breakdown,” I said quietly. All of my anger had evaporated, dissipating into the rain around us, completely forgotten. I knew the expression on Breakdown’s face all too well—I had worn it myself just months ago while listening to Ratchet’s death rattle. The only thing I felt now was the leftover tingles from Knockout’s EM field, and an iron grip of understanding steering my actions.

“W-what?”

I had already cost one person I despised their life today. I didn’t think I could handle more guilt, let alone by my own hand. I holstered the CX-183 but kept a firm grip on Knockout’s optic, squeezing it tighter. Knockout squirmed but didn’t attempt an attack.

“It’s Breakdown, isn’t it?”

“What is? W-what are you talking about?”

“You love him.”

Knockout made a peculiar choking noise, optics cycling comically wide. He emitted a blend of static and metallic chirps before I heard the click of his vocalizer being reset. “That’s none of your business!” he squeaked.

“Your EM field,” I said, leaning closer. “You were trying to tell him something.”

“How did you— _that wasn’t for you!_ How can you even—?”

I bit my lip, ignoring him in my shame, my grip on his optic loosening slightly. I had severely underestimated the depth of the Decepticons. Their actions, however terrifying, weren’t merely the result of innate immorality. They had their own reasons, just as the Autobots did. Just as I did. And I had been too stupid and selfish to ever try understanding.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Not of you!”

“No—of _me and Ratchet._ That’s why you didn’t want to look at her. Because she looked like me. And it reminded you that you can’t—”

“Shut up!” Knockout snapped, but his face was now filled with desperation instead of anger. I felt his EM field swell with panic before sharply retracting, as though he was trying to hide from me. I didn’t blame him. “It’s not your business and it’s nobody else’s either! Shut up and do whatever you’re going to do to me so I don’t have to listen to your yapping anymore.”

Knockout was evidently expecting me to kill him, because he looked shocked when I promptly withdrew my hand from around his optic. The glass was scratched, the color sputtering and sparking, flickering between deep scarlet and nothingness. He blinked a few times, placing a servo over his damaged optic and staring at me with the other.

“Why?” was all he managed in a bewildered voice.

I frowned. “Not because I like you, trust me. But because I don’t think murder is the only conclusion to revenge.”

Knockout just stared.

“All the best to you and Breakdown,” I continued quietly. “I can tell you firsthand that sometimes it’s worth breaking the rules for someone you care about. You might want to consider it.”

Knockout scoffed. “Leaving after a dramatic statement? Starscream would like to have a word with you for stealing his best move.”

I smirked at him as I turned to the battle, more than ready to go home. “Tell him I said thanks for teaching me,” I said airily.

Knockout cocked his helm in complete confusion as I rushed toward the Autobots, who promptly agreed to retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who hated Hana's mom, myself included... let it be known, I vastly enjoyed writing this chapter.


	13. Overthinkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream is bitchy bitch, Hana is confused bitch

“Tell me, Starscream. Have you managed to do anything remotely successful in the past year?”

Starscream picked idly at his fingers as Megatron glowered at him. The spray from the human’s sticky demise had gotten under his armor. Gross. “I seem to be doing a fantastic job upsetting you, if that counts,” he said distractedly.

Megatron snarled and took a step forward. Starscream twitched but held his ground.

“You were ordered to train the human,” Megatron growled. “And it was quite easily exterminated under your watch. I don’t think you are in any position to be making jokes.”

“I’d like to defend myself by noting that Knockout should have made the human less… squishy,” Starscream said, wrinkling his nose. Was this a bone fragment buried under his knuckle? How had that happened?

“Pay attention, Starscream!” Megatron shouted, and Starscream flinched hard, shrinking down submissively. He knew that tone. He was about to get pummeled.

“Lord Megatron,” he said quickly, scooting backwards in self-defense, “I assure you the training was up to par. Our human nearly demolished Han—the Autobot human on multiple occasions. She is just far more trained than ours was! If I had been given more time, or a more _durable_ asset—”

“Do not shift the blame onto Knockout,” Megatron hissed. “The Autobot human has managed to stay alive for a considerable amount of time without getting crushed. Why was yours unable to do the same?”

“The Autobot girl trained for months, Lord Megatron, whereas I was only given—”

“Stop making excuses!” Starscream barely had a chance to brace himself as Megatron’s arm flew toward him, swiping him across the abdomen and sending him careening across the floor. He skittered onto his palms and scrabbled backwards as rapidly as possible as Megatron advanced.

“Your consistent incompetence aside, I am starting to wonder why you seem to _choose_ to fail me regarding a cause that we share. We are both Decepticons. Put your pettiness aside for once in your miserable life and contribute!”

Starscream grimaced and flung himself upright, folding his arms over his cockpit and scowling. Megatron seemed almost surprised his bravery, and commended him silently by not beating him back to the ground.

“I do not _choose_ to fail you, my Lord. It’s my _duty_ to fail you.”

Megatron sneered and took a menacing step closer, closing any distance between the two. Starscream could feel the warlord’s hot breath against his helm, but he dared not flinch. 

“Watch your words,” Megatron said, his voice dangerously low, optics burning with almost palpable heat. “I could end you here and now if I so desire.”

Starscream smirked. “But you won’t do that, will you?”

Megatron’s optics widened, then narrowed, then darkened. Starscream seized the moment of hesitation as an opportunity to spin away, whisking his wings within inches of Megatron’s stunned face as he waltzed from the room, ignoring whatever it was that Megatron had started shouting at him.

It was rare for Starscream to end on a high note, and he was going to take the chance while he still had his limbs intact. Knockout was standing outside the bridge with Breakdown, both of them looking significantly disappointed as the Seeker sauntered out in one piece.

“Have fun with your report,” Starscream mocked cheerfully, gesturing at the door. He cupped his servos over his mouth to feign a noisy, mocking whisper. “He’s not in a very good mood.”

“Why? What did you do?” Knockout yelled as Starscream strutted away, ignoring him completely. “I’m not going to be blamed, am I? I just got all the scratches out!”

Starscream had noticed that one of Knockout’s optics was still rather damaged, but he didn’t care enough to ask why. His thoughts were otherwise occupied now that the pride from his success had been rubbed in someone’s face.

_I don’t want to sink to her level! Not like this!_

Hana’s words hadn’t stopped rattling around in his processor, and it was starting to annoy him. Why had he even bothered to spare her after her pitiful exclamations about “being the better person?” She would have died instantly had Starscream not wanted his own human dead more. Hana was weak-minded, flimsy, pliable, just like the other Autobots. 

He scowled. He knew why he hadn’t killed her, as much as he hated to admitted it.

She was weak, just like him.

They were equally pathetic, craving stability and never seizing it, refusing to take the chance to truly get what they wanted. They were both tricksters in a conversation. They were both _deceptive._ And why?

Perhaps she does for her survival, her own peace of mind, a sense of control. To spite the mother that apparently mistreated her, or maybe to escape her grasp. Starscream didn’t know and he would likely never bother to ask. 

_Because I know why I deceive_ , Starscream thought smugly as he entered his quarters, double checking the locks to ensure Megatron couldn’t come in. _For personal gain, for the reclaiming of my self worth, for my own entertainment... for fun._

He flopped onto his berth and let his face fall into a small, bitter frown. _And, mainly, for retribution, so that someday I can make Megatron regret taking away any and all opportunities at a life that I’d actually be satisfied with._

~

I spent the next few days distracting myself by helping Ratchet around the base, occupying my mind with electronics instead of thoughts. Ratchet had pressed me for explanations for only a few hours before determining that I had completely clammed up, and instead switching his method of comfort to ensuring that my brain was completely busy from the moment I woke up to the moment I fell asleep. He was surely just inventing projects at this point, with how many he threw my way.

I knew that when I had the courage to talk again, I would thank him. But for now, I was busy soldering. The weight of the hot iron in my hand, watching tiny drops of metal blend with circuit boards as they melted—it was plenty to focus on. I pressed the tip of the iron to the board, pushing a line of solder to it slowly, watching it form a small, smooth bubble, almost able to make out my distorted reflection against its miniscule, mirror-like shine. The deep, muddy purple of a bruised eye was visible, if nothing else. My hand shook just a tiny bit as I remembered how I got it, and the searing iron brushed against my thumb, leaving a tiny smudge of molten metal fused to the surface.

I hissed quietly in pain. Optimus, who had been doing God knows what across the room, glanced in my direction.

“Are you alright, Hana?” he asked.

I nodded, slightly embarrassed. “Just being an idiot,” I called.

To my surprise, Optimus walked over and sat on the berth next to me, looking down at me with a strange amount of concern in his optics. I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze, chuckling a little nervously.

“I just burned myself a bit,” I said, gripping my thumb. “I’m fine.”

Optimus had always been difficult to read, but he was even more so right now. There was a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and most notably, understanding. His field prodded a little at mine, and I hesitantly let him in, wondering wildly what was going on. 

“You have not seemed well since the battle a few days ago,” Optimus said, his field surging with calm, though I tensed up regardless. “Is everything well?”

I shouldn’t have let his field mesh with mine, despite how inviting it had felt. Now I _couldn’t_ lie. Optimus pushed a little more warmth toward me, obviously noticing my reluctance. I sighed.

“Just trying to keep myself busy,” I said, choosing words carefully. _Technically,_ I wasn’t lying. “With Ratchet’s recovery and the whole thing with the Decepticons, I’ve just been really tired.”

“Are you bothered by your mother’s fate?”

I pressed my lips together tightly. “Just gonna cut right to the chase, then?”

“Yes.”

I rubbed circles into my temples and lay back, focusing my attention on the ceiling as an invisible stone of stress settled against my chest, pushing the breath from my lungs. I hadn’t noticed it before, and I could feel Optimus trying to lift it, but I urged him away with my own field.

“Shit happens,” I said coldly.

“Yet the situation bothers you nonetheless.”

“With all due respect, my _mom_ died, Optimus. And I just feel like… I feel bad, because I feel like I should be more upset than I am.”

Optimus shot me a very strange look, something caught between concern and sympathy. “I do deeply regret the preventable loss of a human life,” he said slowly, “but from what little I know of your mother, I can understand why you are conflicted regarding her death.”

“Yeah, she was a bitch,” I grumbled. “But still. Did she deserve to die? If I’d known it was her, I wouldn’t have agreed to kill her. But then, why did I agree to kill any human at all?”

“There is no shame in self preservation in unavoidable situations,” Optimus pointed out. “Starscream could have posed a severe risk if you did not comply.”

“That’s the thing,” I muttered. “I don’t know if that’s true.”

“Oh?” Ratchet had returned, and I shifted my gaze onto him as he stared down at me with bewilderment written all over his faceplates. “And why do you think that?”

I sighed and looked away from him. “He could have killed me about a hundred times if he wanted to,” I said. “A thousand, even. I was shell-shocked, terrified, barely putting up a fight at all. And he still stopped her, over and over again. She never got any remotely dangerous hits on me. He kept… stopping her. He was mad at me for not killing her, and he _still_ stopped her.”

Optimus pondered as Ratchet sat on my other side, tucking a digit under my head like a pillow. I pushed into it gratefully, reaching my field toward him, needy for his electric touch. He responded, and between his efforts and Optimus’s, the weight pressing on my chest started to lift a bit. I breathed a little easier and continued.

“I couldn’t kill my mom,” I said quietly. “And we all know Starscream wants Megatron dead, but even so, Megs is still ticking. As much as I daydreamed about my mom disappearing, and as many times as I wished she wouldn’t come home, I couldn’t bring myself to finish it, even with a golden opportunity. She throttled me in every possible way, and I think… I think Megatron does the same thing to Starscream.”

Ratchet was staring at me quite strangely, his field still comforting but penetrated with worry.

“You don’t… sympathize with him, do you?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Well… not really. Sort of? I think he’s like me. He wanted to be more than Megatron ever let him be. But it’s… it’s hard to explain.”

I bit my lip and let my voice trail off. I didn’t want to feel any pity for Starscream. I knew damn well how many lives he had taken, how brutal and sly he could be, and how unapologetic he was. But I couldn’t help but feel that there was more to him than the classic Decepticon brutality. There was something missing from him, just like there was something missing from me. He was careful when he spoke, and he knew how to craft his words in a certain way that always put him on top.

Just like me.

“Hana,” Ratchet started, and I shook my head.

“Don’t get worried. I’m not gonna run off with the Cons because one of them has a good sob story. I just think… I never really tried to see them for anything more than the faces they showed us. And I feel bad about that, because Starscream did that for me. He could have killed me, and he didn’t.”

“And you could have killed Knockout,” Optimus interjected. “But you chose not to.”

“I—” My voice caught. “Yeah.”

“You made a decision to spare a life, which is something many Decepticons would not have chosen,” Optimus said. His field nearly overpowered Ratchet’s with pride and—oddly—admiration. “I have always stood by my statement that all living beings possess the capacity for change. You have never needed to make a decision like the ones you made today, and it is understandable that they were difficult. But the choices you made reflect an Autobot mentality. Not Decepticon.”

“I’m not worried about becoming a Decepticon,” I said with a small eye roll. “I just don’t think we give them enough credit.”

“They haven’t earned the right to get credit.” Ratchet’s voice was harsh, and I pursed my lips as I faced him. “I am sorry I took your mother’s life. I really am. But—”

“I’m not mad at you, Ratchet,” I sighed.

“I know, and I’m still sorry. I was just worried about you, and I trust Starscream about as far as I can throw him. He may not have killed you today, but he might have if his asset had not perished.”

Ratchet tightened his grip around me, swallowing. “The fact that you understand that the Decepticons are more than aggressors means that you’ve learned a lot since being here,” he said earnestly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. But you have to understand, whether they are pitiful or not, this is a war, and someone has to win. Energon, and blood, I suppose, has been shed across galaxies over this fight. And as wonderful as it is for you not to take the path of violence, you absolutely cannot trust the Decepticons to do the same, whether they’ve done so in the past or not. They have proven time and time again that pacifism is not their intended solution. We are fighting them for peace amongst ourselves. They are fighting to win.”

I kept my eyes on Ratchet as he spoke, noticing the fire in his field, the way it surged and twisted with passion and regret and emotions I couldn’t describe. He had been fighting far longer than I had, longer than many. He knew better than anyone what pain came with war. I poked his finger a little bit to try and calm him down.

“That’s what I want, too,” I said reassuringly. “I just… I wish things were different. Especially for you guys. But you can’t want someone to change enough to make them change, I guess.”

Optimus’s field trembled, almost imperceptibly, before pulling away from mine.

“That is correct,” he said, standing up. “I am sorry for your loss, Hana, but I have work to attend to.”

“No problem, world’s better without her in it,” I said with ice coating my tone, playing with one of Ratchet’s fingers. “Thanks for listening.”

Optimus nodded and vanished deeper into the base. I watched him go before moving my gaze to Ratchet. He smiled meekly.

“I’m still sorry,” he said.

I yanked on his finger a few times, managing to return to grin. “It’s fine. Confusing, but fine. One less thing to worry about, I guess. And it’s not like she ever did anything to me that would make me pity her.”

Ratchet looked conflicted as I spoke but nodded. I didn’t want to talk about my mom or my awful, confusing relief that she was dead anymore, and Ratchet could obviously tell because his field retracted from mine as soon as I redirected his attention to my thumb.

“I burned myself,” I said quietly. “Kiss it better.”

“You’re a sparkling.” He obliged, lifting my hand and kissing it gently. I smiled, and I felt his field swell a little bit. “I haven’t seen that in a while.”

I shrugged. “Haven’t been in the mood.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re starting to sound like _me_ now. Stop apologizing. I’m okay. I swear.”

He returned the small grin.


	14. Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idiots idiots idiots idiots

I hadn’t slept for more than a few hours during the past few nights. Despite the weird, gnawing relief I felt in knowing my mother was dead, no matter how hard I tried to shut the memories out, I kept feeling her hot blood spraying against my cool skin, seeing the chunks of what used to be her internals scattering over pebbles. Over and over, I saw her eyes under that disturbing permanent mask, the total lack of personality, the emptiness and the brutality. I kept hearing Knockout’s laughter as he prided himself on mutilating her.

But what really kept me awake was that, despite how disturbing the situation had been, I didn’t feel much different.

I hadn’t considered Mei Fischer to be my mother in years. Decades, even. Her death had been as tragic to me as a strangers: hard to watch, certainly, but the emotional reaction I had anticipated for ages was simply... missing. 

I wasn’t glad. I wasn’t upset. I felt nothing. The complete lack of emotion had been robbing me of sleep for—I grabbed my datapad from the table and glanced at the date—three nights now. I groaned internally and clutched the datapad to my chest, shifting slightly against Ratchet’s chest, not wanting to jostle too much and accidentally wake him.

The closeted sweetheart that he was, Ratchet had been sure to stay awake every night until I managed to throw myself into a restless slumber. He’d listened invitingly to my utter silence every night, quietly asking if I needed anything. I always said no, and he always held me a little tighter anyway.

But tonight, I had insisted that he recharge even if it meant I didn’t get to. He was still technically in recovery, and stepping on a human had proved to be no less traumatic for him that it had been for me. He’d spent hours scrubbing at his bloodied pede, then a few more just standing blank-faced under the streams of running water.

And yet, he still made sure to reaffirm that I was doing okay. I made a mental note to thank him tomorrow. Talking to Optimus and Ratchet, finally allowing myself to spill all of my weird worries and stressors, had dragged a weight from my chest that I’d spent days trying to wordlessly shake.

I aimlessly scrolled through the datapad, reading a few Cybertronian documents and smiling pleasantly. I didn’t know most of the names or words in this particular research study that I had opened—I managed to pick out something about modified energon—but the work seemed interesting enough that I set a reminder to look up the authors tomorrow.

Just as I pressed ‘accept’ on the alarm, a small notification popped up in the corner of the screen, pulsing with artificial urgency. I blinked a few times, confused. It was two in the morning. Who the hell would be up this early? I hesitantly opened the message, and though there was no sender, no part of me questioned who was waiting on the other end.

_Sorry for making you do that._

I took a sharp, deep breath, staring at the message for a long time. Starscream was, without a doubt, the most confusing mech I had ever met, constantly contradicting himself, bouncing between motives and alignment, his only consistent trait being that he seemed to love thwarting Megatron.

Other than that, I had no idea what was going on in that processor of his. And I had even less ideas as to why he was apologizing to me.

I hesitated for a long time. Words failed to form in my brain as I stared at an apology: a real, genuine apology. Speaking to him when we were antagonizing each other was easy. We quite obviously didn’t like each other. He had threatened me multiple times, and I had threatened right back. Though, evidently, he had saved my life almost as many times as he’d tried to take it.

I bit my tongue as I typed, hitting the button to send before I lost my nerve. _It was probably for the best anyway._

Judging by the fact that he read it immediately, he was probably staring at his own datapad the same way as I was. He responded in moments.

_I wouldn’t know._

My fists tightened around the datapad, and I drummed my thumb impatiently against it, unsure of what to say. I had so many questions for him, so many things I wanted to ask. Why hadn’t he killed me? Why did he do the things he did? What was his motivation, and why did he hate Megatron so much? I typed out a few messages and promptly erased them, not wanting to push him away or close him off. I wanted answers. I had to know why he was such a walking discrepancy.

Somehow I settled on a question that I knew he might not respond to, but one I was desperate to know the answer to.

_If you hate Megatron so much, why are you so loyal to him? If all you want is revenge, you could join the Autobots, help us end his entire cause._

It was his turn to take forever to say something. I saw him read my message as soon as it was sent, but his response took so long to come that by the time I received it, I was preoccupied by wondering if he was going to say anything at all.

_You know it’s not that simple._

I typed quickly, anxious for more.

_It’s worth considering, isn’t it?_

As before, Starscream read the message the second he received it. He apparently stared at it for some time, started to type something, stopped, started again. I waited, holding my breath, clenching the datapad with whitened knuckles.

And as suddenly as he had sent the first message, he went offline.

I blinked in surprise and sent another message.

_Starscream?_

Nothing.

I rubbed my lips together as I waited for a few more minutes, silently crossing my fingers as I stared at the unread message. I wanted to know. I _needed_ to know. Something deep in my gut was forcing me to stare at my screen, telling me that if I learned about him, I would be able to understand myself just a little bit better. I could figure out why my mother’s death hadn’t seemed to affect me in any way, why I had only been angry about her mutilation.

I was half asleep when my datapad lit up once again. I snapped upright and opened the message, heart pounding as I saw the stripe of text flicker to life on the screen.

_When I get what I want, the war will end by association. There will be no Autobots or Decepticons to lead. There will only be a savior, and his name will be Starscream. I will take my place as a ruler, worshipped by all, and only then will I be happy. Not because the war is over, and not because I am the leader, but because I claimed the throne of my own accord, by my own hand. What joy can there be in winning if you are not the hero?_

I scrolled a little farther to the next message.

_Do not contact me again. It isn’t safe for either of us._

I had just finished reading when the entire screen shut off, sputtering back to life to reveal absolutely nothing in my inbox, as though I had just imagined the entire thing.

~

Starscream immediately regretted sending Hana a message, but somehow, he hadn’t been able to resist. Recharge had been evading him all evening despite his desperation to close his optics and rest. His tanks were rolling with guilt and confusion, and the very thought of being _ashamed_ of his actions was enough to make him want to purge. He had no reason to feel guilty. He wanted all these confusing, conflicting emotions to go away.

But strangely, he felt better when she replied: _It was probably for the best anyway._

He scoffed and shut down his relief at her answer, refilling his processors with dry spite. How lucky for her. She was able to see her enemy defeated, to watch the destruction of the tyrannical force that drove her life and actions. Retribution must have tasted so sweet for her, and it was all because of _him._ He was disgusted with himself for helping her, and his tanks churned fully when he felt a little proud of doing so.

His reply was tight and irritated: _I wouldn’t know._

It wasn’t fair. Why was he _glad_ that she had gotten revenge? He wanted to be angry, seething with jealousy, frustrated that she had succeeded in getting the retribution that he had failed to grasp for so many centuries. And instead, he was pleased to be a part of it.

Maybe he was simply living vicariously through her, trying to enjoy her freedom as his own. He hoped that was the case.

She was taking a long time to respond, and Starscream gripped the datapad so tightly that he nearly snapped the thing in half. Would she respond? What would she say? Was she mad at him? 

Why did he care?

And why did his spark surge with activity when he finally saw her name appear on his screen?

_If you hate Megatron so much, why are you so loyal to him? If all you want is revenge, you could join the Autobots, help us end his entire cause._

Starscream’s processor flickered and went black for a moment. He stared at the message for a long, long time, resetting his thoughts a few times, trying to make sense of what she had said.

Was she suggesting that he defect?

No, he couldn’t. It was foolish to even entertain the possibility. There were thousands of reasons to be part of the Decepticons. He started to type them out: _I can’t. I need to be a Decepticon. I’ve made it so far with no real exceptional skills. I can’t just back out. Megatron must be defeated by my own hand, or I will forever be a failure._

He deleted the message and started again.

_The Decepticons are going to win. I can’t leave and give up on my dream of finally being a leader, of finally being someone. Or of simply getting my old job back._

He erased it and tried another.

_You’re an idiot for even suggesting that. I’m a loyal Decepticon, loyal to Lord Megatron, no matter how it pains me._

He hissed in frustration and settled on something more cryptic.

_You know it’s not that simple._

If anyone was going to understand how complicated his predicament was, it was Hana. She had been equally overjoyed and devastated at finally receiving revenge for her obnoxious mother’s mistreatment, whatever it had been. Starscream had seen the conflict between joy and devastation written all over her face. He wanted that for himself. He wanted the same fate for Megatron as much as he didn’t want it at all.

Though he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be a leader anymore. But that drive and passion had persisted for so long, so many millions of years, that he _couldn’t_ give up on it. She had to understand that.

She responded with record speed: _It’s worth considering, isn’t it?_

Starscream bit his lip and stared at the message. Why was she doing this? _How_ was she doing this? He started to try and formulate a response, each less coherent than the last.

_I can’t. I’ve come too far now to turn back._

_I just want to go back to my old job._

_I want Megatron dead but I can’t succeed without him._

_If I leave, everything I’ve ever done will be for nothing._

_His dwindling trust in me is the only reason I’m here at all. Nobody else has any faith in me, and I can’t figure out why he keeps me around. But I can’t leave now._

_I don’t know what I want anymore._

_What do I do? Are you satisfied? How did you find out what you really wanted?_

_If this is my goal, why am I not happy to be pursuing this? How did I end up here, the least trusted Decepticon, but somehow one of the most successful?_

_Why did you trust me?_

He hissed in rage and slammed his datapad down, watching the screen flicker and shut off, grabbing at his helm to try and shove the thoughts and emotions out. What was her secret? How was she infiltrating his processors like this? He kept picturing her over and over, the strange expression she had worn when she had finally laid her trust in him, the way she had looked at him when the medic crushed her mother. Is that how Starscream would look when he finally snuffed Megatron’s spark?

He sat in silent contemplation for a while, wondering why his own spark was shivering so viciously, begging silently for answers to questions he had refused to ask. His moping was interrupted by a small _ping_ , and he glared at his datapad as it lit up, checking the notification without opening it.

_Starscream?_

Starscream gritted his teeth and hurled the datapad at a wall, vastly disappointed to see it clatter to the ground unharmed. Who did she think she was, demanding his attention like that? The foolish, disgusting, arrogant human would soon know she was an idiot for having faith in him. He strolled toward the datapad and smashed his message into it.

_When I get what I want, the war will end by association. There will be no Autobots or Decepticons to lead. There will only be a savior, and his name will be Starscream. I will take my place as a ruler, worshipped by all, and only then will I be happy. Not because the war is over, and not because I am the leader, but because I claimed the throne of my own accord, by my own hand. What joy can there be in winning if you are not the hero?_

Hopefully that would hurt her feelings. She was weak, pathetic. She hadn’t even been capable of taking down her own mother, and he had his sights set on all of Cybertron. And he would take down anyone in his path to achieve that.

He saw her read the message and his glee dissipated, replaced immediately with worry. _Would_ she be upset? What if someone saw these messages? Starscream would quickly be terminated if caught privately conversing with an Autobot, and she would get… yelled at, at most. He couldn’t let that happen. 

He typed out another message: _Do not contact me again. It isn’t safe for either of us._ And just in time, too, as just seconds later, someone pounded a fist against his door.

Starscream quickly deleted all traces of his conversation and glared at the door. “Who is it?”

No response. Starscream sighed.

“What do you want, Soundwave?”

Soundwave took no hesitation in letting himself in, his visor trained on Starscream darkly as his helm tilted toward the datapad. Starscream shrugged innocently.

“I was reading,” he said in a flat tone.

Soundwave shook his head. “Outgoing signals: detected. Source: Starscream’s datapad.”

Soundwave’s invisible gaze met Starscream’s, and it took all of the composure Starscream had not to shudder nervously. “Outside communication on personal devices: prohibited,” Soundwave added.

“I was _working,_ not messaging someone,” Starscream tittered. “I must have accidentally sent something. Nothing to worry about.”

“Very well.” Soundwave turned around, never one for extended conversations. “Repeated detection will result in notifying Lord Megatron.”

“Yes, you do that,” Starscream hissed, clutching his datapad tight against his chest, watching closely as Soundwave left and locked the door. Starscream sighed in relief and flopped backwards onto his berth, staring at the empty screen, wondering vaguely if he’d ever get a chance to work alongside Hana again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starscream angst that no one asked for? You bet.
> 
> Also Soundwave talks because I can't decide how true to his TFP self I want him to be lol


	15. Bad Aim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana finally stops being annoying and whiny, and now STARSCREAM is annoying and whiny.

“Come on, Arcee! Hurry up! I’m not in a fighting mood today!”

I laughed as Bumblebee buzzed brightly at me, his arms full of the energon Arcee was chipping from the wall. We’d found an abandoned mine a few weeks ago that hadn’t quite been cleared out, and though I was little help in carrying it, I provided a good lookout for Arcee and Bumblebee while they took care of it. Though Arcee didn’t seem to be as cheerful as I was.

“I’m going as fast as I can, Hana,” she said with a classic edge in her voice. “Almost done.”

I skated in another long loop around the cave we were in, still seeing no one. Same as the past few hours. I wasn’t getting bored, per say—I still found it difficult to be anything other than excited while on the field, especially considering that I’d been getting elected to go along more and more. But I was certainly feeling restless. I skated backwards past Bumblebee with a wink and a set of finger guns displayed proudly, and he chittered in amusement.

It had been a few months since my mother had reached her rather anticlimactic end, and I’d been feeling a lot better since hurling myself into training to get my mind off of things. My strength was higher, my mood was improving, and overall, things just felt _better._ I’d allowed the liberation of being free from her hold to overtake me fully, and though I still had nightmares every few nights or so, Ratchet had never once failed to wake up and help lull me back to sleep.

I smiled thinking of him, showing off for Bumblebee again with an arching backflip. Bumblebee cheered and dropped a chunk of energon to the ground. Arcee turned to glare at me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be our _lookout?_ ” she said, optics narrowed despite the small grin on her face.

“Oh, come _on_ , Arcee, no one’s here. Just us.” I skated another long lap to prove it. “See? Still no one. This was an easy one, in and out. I’m just ready to get home now.”

“You and me both.” Arcee continued hammering away at the wall when an unfamiliar echo rang through the air. I frowned and rode through a more careful loop, still seeing no signs of anyone. _Must’ve just been a weird hit._

“I’m not sure if I’m glad that you’re back to your old self or not,” Arcee said with a snicker, ripping another shard of energon free from the rock around us and placing it on the growing pile in Bumblebee’s arms. “I almost forgot how fidgety you get.”

“You sound like Ratchet,” I quipped.

“Ouch.”

I laughed. “Oh, come on. I’m not _that_ twitchy. I just—”

Halfway through another high-speed backwards loop, I heard a faint bang emit from the entrance of the mine. I skidded to an abrupt halt and held my hands up: both Autobots froze. Bumblebee chirped quietly, questioningly.

“Just a second,” I said, frowning and gliding away from them. “Swore I heard something.”

I kept my ears wide open as I pushed forward, hearing something that could have been footsteps, but were too distant to tell. I frowned. Arcee and Bumblebee were being silent, and I faintly wondered how mad Arcee would be if this was just an animal or something.

My skates carried me only a bit farther before I heard voices, and I promptly scrambled behind a nearby boulder to hide. It didn’t take more than a millisecond for me to determine who was here.

“I’m telling you, I saw Autobot signals on the radar! Coming from right around here!”

“Starscream, if you’re wasting my time yet _again,_ I promise you will be punished.”

“I’m _not!_ ”

“For your sake, I hope that’s true!”

I gritted my teeth and scaled the rock as quietly as possible, peering over the edge to see the faint silhouettes of the Decepticons slowly approaching from the mouth of the cave. Megatron and Starscream were obvious, given how they were shouting at each other. A blockier one that I recognized as Breakdown was hanging a bit farther behind, slumping his shoulders as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. I grinned a bit. I understood the feeling. They were flanked by two or three of their foot soldiers, who were hanging even farther back, barely recognizable.

“I swear! There were three signals!”

“Then where are they, pray tell?”

“How should I know? I don’t have a radar on me!”

“You came without a radar?!”

“I figured you’d bring one, you great brute!”

Breakdown’s voice cut through the others’ shouting with strange ease.

“If they are here, your yelling is going to alert them to our presence.”

“ _Shut up!_ I know that!”

Megatron sighed. They were close now, and I pressed myself as flat as possible on top of the rock, resting at a slightly higher altitude than Megatron’s helm. My eyes narrowed as my fists clenched into tight balls. Just one jump from here, one quick leap with my fist pointed out, and I could bury my knuckles into Megatron’s face. The temptation was overwhelming, but I suppressed it like a smart little warrior and sent pings to Arcee and Bumblebee to alert them in case the screaming somehow hadn’t.

They responded, and just in time too—Starscream had started screeching something else when Megatron stuck an arm out to stop him from progressing further. I couldn’t see it from behind, but I could almost feel the tension in the air get heavier.

“Autobots.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, idiot. You were right for once. Let’s make it a habit, shall we?”

Starscream hissed and jumped past Megatron’s arm, ignoring the warlord’s protests as he flung himself into the room Bumblebee and Arcee were in. I couldn’t see who hit him, but with a loud _clang,_ he careened backwards into a soldier and toppled over. I snickered.

“You fool, Starscream!” Megatron lunged forward as the Autobots came into view, blasters blazing and energon abandoned as they attempted to push the Decepticons back. Starscream staggered to his feet and pounced at Arcee, who dodged a punch with a snarl. Breakdown occupied himself with Bumblebee, swinging his hammer deftly but just a bit too slowly. Bumblebee jerked out of the way with a buzz and kicked the arm back.

“Where’s the third, Starscream?” Megatron sounded furious.

“How should I know?”

Arcee’s face lifted into a grin as she landed a hit on Starscream’s stomach. He wheezed and fired a beam at her helm, which she barely dodged.

Megatron suddenly spun around, optics dark and narrowed. I ducked.

“The human must be here,” he growled.

Well, damn. So much for the element of surprise. I leapt from my hiding space and onto the nearest Vehicon, grabbings its helm and using my boosters to rocket downwards, dragging the Vehicon with me. It flipped over and crashed into the ground with a grunt of pain, and I jumped from it and bounced off Megatron’s back to push another one down as well, surprising it with a strong kick in the stomach. Megatron glared at me and fired a shot from his fusion cannon—I ducked behind the grounded Vehicon to dodge, hearing the ground behind me erupt with dirt and rubble.

Starscream sent Arcee flying into a wall and whirled toward me with a grimace, a missile streaking toward my head before I could react. I dipped down again, feeling my hair whip around my head as the projectile barely missed and exploded just yards away. I peeked my head out and laughed loudly.

“You _missed,_ idiot!” I stuck my middle finger up.

Quite surprisingly, Starscream froze. His face twisted with rage for a moment before he lowered his arms and stomped toward me—

—and out of the mine entirely.

Megatron clenched his fists and turned to face Starscream, looking absolutely livid.

“ _Where are you going?_ ”

“ _Out!_ ”

“Get back here! We’re going to be outnumbered!”

“I don’t _care!_ ”

I heard the unmistakable sound of Starscream transforming, and Megatron yelled furiously and thundered after him. Breakdown blinked a few times, looking around at us.

“Uh…”

He apparently realized that he was the only one left and promptly charged away.

It had been less than five minutes since they’d showed up, and they were already gone.

Arcee, Bumblebee, and I all looked at each other in dumb silence, bewildered. Bumblebee blipped and raised his hands.

“I have… no idea,” Arcee answered.

“That was abrupt,” I agreed, prodding a Vehicon to make sure it was fully unconscious.

We sat in confused, tense quiet for a little while longer before Arcee spoke up.

“I don’t think they’re coming back,” she said slowly.

Bumblebee buzzed in agreement.

“Well, we, uh… we might as well get that energon before they prove us wrong,” I said with a shrug. Arcee nodded and began to lift the little stockpile from the corner with Bumblebee’s help, and I called Ratchet for a bridge, staring confusedly at the deep scuff Starscream had left in the ground when he spun around to leave.

Yet again, he’d had a clean shot and missed by a mile. I frowned and shrugged it off as a GroundBridge appeared, strolling through with a small smile lifting the corners of my lips as Ratchet came into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really struggling to write recently, so I apologize for the slow updates. I promise I'm trying my best! I'm getting back into the swing of it due to some baller playlists and some angst inspo.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for being patient with me! I appreciate it so much.


	16. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much whining...

Starscream always felt better in the air.

He streaked across the night sky, looking at the endless stretch of dirt and rock below, the glistening stars above, the thin line where the universe above met the surface of this Primus-forsaken rock.

He despised everything about this planet. 

Well… almost everything.

It _had_ been everything, just a few months ago. There was nothing he enjoyed about the constantly changing climates, the way he had to constantly hide in his alt mode instead of being free in the sky. And he was rarely allowed to fly, anyway. Megatron kept him trapped on the ship, forcing him to stay at his side despite Starscream’s obvious objections and pleas to just have an hour to himself. Even today, with a large crack splitting his cockpit in half as punishment for leaving mid-battle, Megatron had ordered Starscream not to leave the ship.

Starscream wasn’t even doing anything useful enough to warrant being under such close watch—he didn’t think so, at least. Paperwork, giving orders, all kinds of bureaucratic slag. Boring, tedious work that was surely meant as discipline for _something._ And when Starscream tried to slink into Knockout’s lab to see what scientific endeavours the doctor might be undergoing, he was promptly ordered out.

Ever since he had let the human die, he hadn’t been allowed near any engineering projects. No exceptions, no excuses.

Starscream kicked his thrusters into a higher gear and started climbing, tired of his alt mode, wanting to stretch his legs and brood properly. An hour and a thousand miles later, he happened upon some hefty cloud cover and shifted into his base mode with relief. The condensation pooled with an icy chill around his armor, but he paid it no mind. His processor was lingering on one piece of information only: her.

Starscream scowled at the realization, though his frustration had been growing less and less sharp as the weeks crawled by. Her mother had died almost three months ago as of today, and she hadn’t spoken a word to him since—until today, that is. He’d typed out a thousand messages that he never sent, a million questions, an endless stream of emotions he didn’t understand. He needed help sorting through them. He wanted her input, and he knew she would give it, but he could never bring himself to hit send.

He’d blamed it on Soundwave’s overbearing surveillance for quite some time. But the longer he went without saying anything to her, the less suspicious Soundwave had gotten. At this rate, the worst Starscream would get would be some more firm words. 

Starscream had eventually deduced why he wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —send the messages.

He’d figured out why his spark twitched when he saw her on the battlefield, why his tanks ached after seeing her get hurt, why he breathed a sigh of relief when the medic didn’t accompany her, and why he so deeply despised seeing the medic when he did choose to show up.

Because she always looked at that boxy orange jerk like he held all the secrets to the universe. Like there was something special about him, like she cared about him. The very sight of that expression, even in his imagination, made Starscream feel violently ill.

Starscream streaked forward at full speed, ignoring how confused the organics below might be to hear a sonic boom in the dead of night. He didn’t care about them or the fact that he might get in trouble again later. He was too high to be spotted. He didn’t even know why he had picked up his speed. 

Maybe he was running away, though he wasn’t sure what from.

She had always fought with such sporadic grace, like some kind of innately talented sparkling just learning to get its footing. He had watched her improve as the months turned into years, seen the technique tighten, felt the nervousness trickle away with every fight. He had never laughed harder than when she had somehow gotten Knockout to punch himself in the face, and he had deeply admired the way she got Megatron so furious so easily.

Maybe he had thought this way back then, too, and hadn’t realized it.

But speaking to her, making a deal with her, _that_ had been the real mistake. She was fun to watch from a distance, to humiliate in his processors, to mock for being such a weak being. Then she had showed up with her eyes narrowed, strength practically radiating from her body, her words dominating the conversation with the ease and delicacy of a master con artist. Starscream had been taken aback. Admiring what she had done with the agony of almost losing her beloved medic. She had turned it into raw power and kept it coiled, waiting to strike, carefully controlled.

And at the subtle mention of her mother, she had broken.

Not much. Just enough that Starscream was able to peer through the cracks and see the shattered fragments of her life waiting just below the surface, the edges sharp and rusty. He had never glimpsed into an organic before, let alone her. He’d never cared. And he had promptly trembled with fear because beneath that tough exterior, she and him looked exactly the same.

She could have been so much. But she had been overwhelmed by her mother into being someone else.

He could have been so much. But he had been overwhelmed by Megatron into being someone else.

Starscream drew a deep breath and banked hard, nearly ramming into the side of the cliff he was trying to land on. His thrusters spewed chunks of rock and greenery everywhere as he shakily grounded himself, rubbing at the back of his neck and pacing back and forth along the edge of the precipice.

He began to sort through his thoughts slowly, trying to figure out why his processor was aching so much. He had ridden this cyclical train of thought a million times, and it still made his helm throb. He never reached any sort of conclusion. He only managed frustration, screaming, probably uprooting a tree or six. 

Their pasts were too similar. They had learned to be the same kind of deceptive. They had both been abused, beaten down, forced to be something they didn’t want to be, trained to speak in half-truths just to survive.

How had she escaped, while he was still under Megatron’s heel?

It wasn’t fair. Starscream hated her for being so much luckier than him. What did she have that he didn’t? Other than, of course, a silky voice that far surpassed his seemingly-constant shriek. And the tight, elegant sort of frame that only formed from hard work, not from being constructed. And the way her dark hair shined just a little bit red in the morning sunlight, almost purple at sundown. And—

Starscream emitted a broken cry of frustration and kicked at a large rock, ignoring the dent that appeared on his pede and focusing on the satisfying way the boulder soared into the distance and hit the ground below with an echoing thud. He dropped to his knees and put his head in his hands, reminding himself that he was alone and that no one could see the tears streaming down his faceplates.

He liked her. A lot. He had never met someone as damaged as he was, and in all the same ways. She was the embodiment of the success that he had been chasing for eons. She was a flawlessly torn example of what he wanted to be, and what he wanted to have. Brave, strong, overcoming her aggressor and using her misery to her advantage. She was sly, she was sarcastic, she was beautiful, she was powerful.

She was perfect.

Starscream screamed and slammed his fists into the ground, eruptions of dirt spouting into the air as the land cracked and whined in protest.

She was the medic’s.

~

Hana stirred a little as a deafening crack split the peaceful air above the silo. The cloud-smothered stars Ratchet had been gazing at seemed to shudder in irritation as the serenity was broken for a moment, but in a flash of light, whatever had caused the disturbance was gone.

Ratchet glanced down at Hana’s slightly rousing form, watching her eyes pry open and meet his.

“What was that?” she mumbled.

“Not sure,” Ratchet said soothingly. “Go back to sleep.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course. It was probably just an airplane or something.”

She smiled and readjusted in Ratchet’s lap, entangling her fingers in some of the cables in his legs. “Big ass airplane,” she noted tiredly.

“And not one you need to concern yourself with.”

She nuzzled her head against his armor. “Wake me up if you get attacked,” she cooed. He chuckled.

“I doubt I could even if I wanted to. But that’s okay. I’ll always protect you, whether you’re awake or asleep.”

She made a sleepy, happy noise. “I love you.”

He put a servo over her to reinforce his point, tracing a digit up and down her back. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: this whole final arc is completely self indulgent and started out as a simple drabble that got way, way out of hand. But I'm loving writing it because I am the biggest sucker for unrequited feelings.


	17. Recapture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh you KNOW this just isn't gonna go well. Hana is an idiot. Drift is an idiot. Ratchet is an enabler of the idiocy.

“...Hey, Ratchet—”

“No. Don’t even start. You only use that tone when you’re about to suggest something idiotic.”

I folded my arms, plastering a pout on my face.

“We really need to stop spending so much time together,” I grumbled. “I _am_ about to suggest something idiotic.”

“By all means, share it with me. That way I can talk you out of it.”

I rolled my eyes and leaned deeper into Ratchet’s shoulder, pressing my face against his.

“Can we go out?” I inserted a pleading tone into my voice, and Ratchet’s narrowed optics swiveled toward me.

“Going out never bodes well for us,” he said firmly. “So, no.”

“But Ratchet—”

“No.”

I huffed and spun around, putting my feet on Ratchet’s cheek. He sighed.

“That’s not going to work,” he said, sounding exasperated.

“It’s for a noble cause!” I pushed my feet harder into his face. 

“Oh? And what cause is that?” Ratchet was using his stern voice now, not looking at me as I squished my toes against his faceplates.

“It’s foggy and Drift said he wants to play hide and seek!” I scoffed, as if it were obvious.

“That is the _stupidest_ cause you could have come up with.”

“Oh, come _on!_ When was the last time we did anything together?”

“We went on the roof to stargaze two nights ago.”

“Yeah, the _roof._ That doesn’t count as _out._ ”

“Not happening.”

“You _said_ you wanted me to bond more with everyone!”

“A _year_ ago!”

“Please?”

I kneaded my feet into Ratchet’s face, grinning mischievously as he sighed and pinched my calves, lifting me so I dangled upside down. He looked as grouchy as ever, but not so much so that he couldn’t be convinced.

“No.”

I swung toward him, grabbing onto the spikes above his optics.

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Would you two knock it off?”

Drift had joined us, his arms folded over his chest, looking caught between amusement and irritation. Ratchet huffed in annoyance.

“Drift, we’re not going out to play hide and seek. You’re being a sparkling.”

Drift grinned. “Yeah, we are. You’ve been extra, ridiculously grouchy since the… accident with Starscream. And I’m tired of you two arguing. We’re going out and we’re going to enjoy ourselves for once. Because Hana’s right—sitting on the roof doesn’t count as going out, and neither does recon.”

I smirked at Ratchet. He quite pointedly ignored me.

“It’s not safe,” he grumbled.

“It’s _never_ safe!” Drift insisted. “Yes, she’s a walking target at this point. But you have to stop being so overprotective. Being sheltered all the time will only lower your inhibitions and get you in trouble, mentally and physically; let yourselves loose for a little bit! You both need it. I promise she won’t get eaten by a mist monster.”

“I’m not overprotective!”

“Really? That’s what you took from that?”

My smirk widened as Ratchet’s mouth snapped shut. I could practically see the gears turning in his processor, trying to come up with a fair argument for staying inside and away from potential dangers. I winked at Drift, who returned the gesture as Ratchet sighed.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if she gets hurt, I’m blaming you, Drift.”

“' _I’m not overprotective,_ '” Drift mimicked quietly. Ratchet glowered and placed me on the floor, still not looking entirely pleased. I bounced on my heels excitedly and wrapped my arms around Ratchet’s leg before he could yell at Drift. He rolled his optics, but I saw the hint of a blush rise in his cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, shooing me away. “Put on a jacket. It’s cold out.”

“If it’s above freezing, it’s not cold,” I argued idly, rushing to get a jacket anyway before Ratchet changed his mind about letting us go. There were a lot of things he was stubborn about, but for some reason, keeping my core temperature steady was one of the main ones. I blamed it primarily on his medical protocols.

We walked out of the base and were immediately greeted by a thick blanket of fog coating the usually-barren landscape. Familiar cactuses and boulders were lost in the sea of white, shadows from the pale moon overhead blocked and thinned into nothingness. The sky was dark and grey, the cloud cover consistent as though a sheet had been draped across the world. I shivered—the air wasn’t overly cold, but the fine droplets of mist that hung suspended around us were like ice against my exposed fingers.

“I told you that you’d need a jacket,” Ratchet said amusedly. I glared up at him as we moved deeper into the haze and chuckled.

“You’re so tall, I can barely see you,” I said with a snicker. I saw an amused flash of blue pierce through the white for a moment, but it faded quickly when Ratchet’s optics apparently shifted upwards again.

“We’ll have to take care not to step on you,” Drift’s torso said. I could barely see past either of their stomachs, their helms and shoulders lost to the all-encompassing whiteness. It was incredibly weird and incredibly cool at the same time. I chuckled and took a few quicker paces forward.

“You only have to worry about that if you can find me!” I called, racing forward deeper into the fog. It was so thick that it seemed to smother sound as well as sight: Ratchet’s annoyed calls dropped into nothingness faster than they should have, the noise devoured by the vast expanse of white. I ran in the direction of a large rock I remembered seeing a few times, and after wandering aimlessly for a few minutes, managed to stumble upon it and tuck myself out of sight.

“Come find me!” I called. Judging by Ratchet’s distant, irritated grumble, Drift had also bolted away in pursuit of my hiding space.

“Give me a hint!” Drift yelled, somewhere far to my left.

I trembled a little as a breeze swept over the area, hoisting my jacket higher onto my shoulders.

“No!” I shouted back, realizing that any reply was a hint and snickering a bit at my own idiocy. I heard Drift’s footfalls pause and turn, heading more or less in my direction. I clapped a hand over the biolights on my arm just in case they were bright enough to be visible.

I stayed silent for a long while, listening as Drift and Ratchet bumped into each other a few times, both of them snickering a little when they did. They were much easier to find than I was—I was smaller _and_ sitting still, so they had no indicators whatsoever as to where I was. I was tempted to start moving or to give another hint when a strange whine in the distance made my ears perk up. Drift and Ratchet, who had been scheming amongst themselves in pursuit of my hiding spot, fell silent.

“Hana?” Ratchet sounded uncertain. “Was that you?”

“No,” I replied slowly. I tried as hard as I could to listen, picking up on their echoing, distant footsteps, but the mysterious sound had vanished. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, but I remained in hiding. “Maybe it something in the base?”

“We should go back—”

“No!” Drift cut Ratchet off quickly. “One weird sound is not a big deal! You need to relax!”

“ _Me,_ relax? I heard you take your swords out!”

“Did not! Look!”

“You just put them away again!”

“Guys!” I snapped. “Aren’t we doing this so we _don’t_ argue as—”

My voice froze in my throat as the whining sound returned, very far away but audible nonetheless. I held my breath to listen, clenching my fists and straining my ears.

It was getting closer. Fast.

An icy grip of dread wrapped around my stomach. “Ratchet, I wanna go back to base now!”

Both Drift and Ratchet were clearly one step ahead of me. I heard their footsteps grow faster, more urgent in their pursuit. Ratchet’s voice emanated from what seemed like miles in front of me. “Where are you?”

I emerged from my rock, trying to follow his voice. “Behind you, I think?”

I heard him move away, his footsteps quickening. “No—!” I yelled. “The other behind! In front of you!”

“Stop moving!”

“ _You_ stop moving!”

“Both of you, _be quiet._ ”

Drift’s voice was deadly serious despite its vast distance from me. I skidded to a halt, listening in horror as the impossibly loud whine cut short in lieu of a heavy _thud._ An eerie silence fell over the entire area.

_Shit, shit, shit, what was that?_ I tiptoed forward as quietly as possible, looking around for any signs of blue or orange or red or anything that wasn’t white. Footsteps that were clearly not Ratchet’s or Drift’s sounded from just a few yards behind me, and I turned around only briefly to see a shadowy mass skulking just a few yards away. I covered my mouth to smother my breathing, and somehow, the nearly imperceptible sound of my hand against my lips made the figure turn its head. The faintest hint of a purple hue sliced through the white, facing directly towards me.

My heart nearly slammed to a halt, and I fled as fast as I could, giving up on silence and letting my footsteps thunder as I made a mad dash in _any other direction than that one._

“Ratchet? Drift? We need to go!”

“Hana?”

I swung around to see a vaguely Drift-like shape in the distance, and relief swept over me for half a second as I saw it drawing closer.

“ _Drift?_ ”

My whole body stiffened, and the blood in my veins turned to slush. That had been my voice—but I hadn’t been the one speaking.

“Oh, shit,” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat. There was only one mech in the universe I knew of that could mimic voices like that, so incredibly well that Drift stopped his pursuit of me and turned in the direction of the imposter. I scrambled toward him, tripping over my own feet in a panic.

“Drift, w-wait!” I stammered. “It’s—Soundwave, he’s—he’s copying my voice! I’m over here!”

“ _No—! I’m over here! Drift?_ ”

I swore under my breath and ran toward Drift as his shape momentarily paused.

“I—I’m not sure what to do here!” he yelled cautiously. “Hana, come to me!”

“No!” Ratchet had gotten within earshot. “Stop giving away your positions!”

“ _Ratchet?_ ”

“Hana!”

“No!” I barked. “That wasn’t me! Just stay quiet so he can’t sample our voices!”

A heavy silence fell, lingering as I moved carefully through the fog, looking for footprints, a shadow in the distance, anything that would put me safely away from Soundwave’s deceptions. The ground was hard underneath my feet, far too tough for any tracks to be left behind, and my breath began to quicken after a few achingly long, silent minutes.

“ _Don’t hurt me! Please!_ ”

My shriek reverberated through the air, and I whirled in its direction, disoriented and incredibly confused. Where had Soundwave gotten that clip? I’d rarely even seen Soundwave, let alone screamed like that in his presence. Wherever it had come from, it had worked—I heard the pounding of Ratchet’s footsteps in its direction, and my heart squeezed painfully.

“Ratchet—no!”

The fog flashed blindly purple, and Ratchet’s footfalls ceased instants later. I was fully wheezing at this point, both from exhaustion and fear, and I stumbled blindly in the direction of the light, praying that I had misunderstood what had happened. I heard Drift yelling somewhere far in front of me, his own voice breaking with terror.

Panting, I rushed forward, listening intently, praying to any god that would listen for Ratchet’s safety. I refused to lose him. Not again. Not like this.

“Ratchet?” I called quietly, stupidly hoping that Soundwave wouldn’t hear me if I kept my voice down. My response came in the form of a weak groan that sent a riptide of relief surging through me.

“Hana—don’t—”

“Ratchet! You’re alive!”

“Stop—”

It only took a few moments for me to follow his voice, finding him lying face down in the dirt. I rushed toward him, grabbing his helm, trying to pull him upright.

“We have to go,” I whispered. “We’ll find Drift and—why are you so stiff? Get up!”

Ratchet grunted as if annoyed with me, his every word sounding incredibly labored as he spoke. “I—said— _don’t—_ ”

“What?”

Before Ratchet could answer, I heard light footsteps approach behind me, terrifyingly quick. I spun on my heel and stuck my arms out in a fruitless attempt to protect Ratchet, glaring directly into Soundwave’s visor.

“Leave us alone!” I screamed, balling my hands into fists. Soundwave said nothing, simply staring down at me, expressionless and completely unreadable. My chest heaved as I drew heavy breaths, tightening my fists.

“You wanna fight, do you?” I growled. “Fine!”

I jumped forwards, moving barely an inch before a long purple tentacle rocketed from Soundwave’s chest, wrapping around me in an instant. I yelped and struggled briefly, trying to wriggle away as I felt disgustingly flexible feelers prod at my head.

“Get—”

My voice cut short as a jolt of electricity rocketed through my body, pain jolting through my so abruptly and so sharply that I fainted only an instant later, going completely limp in Soundwave’s impossibly tight grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final arc is finally gettin going! Sorry for being slow as hell writing-- I'm trying my best to get back in the swing of it. I've been s l o g g i n g through these last few chapters, but it finally starts getting more fun here. And by more fun, I mean awful for everyone involved.


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